The Heart We Build
by RaspBerryHats
Summary: One hundred years have passed since the night Klaus fell and took Tyler and Bonnie with him. Caroline's changed since then. So has Damon. In fact, he's become a dad. Caroline returns home to help the young girl, who fears her father's old habits, and if it becomes necessary, stake Damon Salvatore. She is thrown into a mystery littered with bodies, secrets, and of course, vampires.
1. Chapter 1

**The Heart We Build**

_All my nightmares escaped my head_

_Bar the door, please don't let them in_

_You were never supposed to leave_

_Now my head's splitting at the seams_

_And I don't know if I can_

_ -Welcome Home, Radical Face_

* * *

**Chapter 1: Anniversary **

On a late Thursday night, when the moon was high, Officer Michael Sheldon, of Seattle's 51st District, was thinking about Caroline Forbes.

He held his standard-issued, high-powered electric stun handgun in front of him and the LCD light, built into his uniform's shoulder, cleared away the shadows of the maintenance tunnel. Mike was a little out of breath, the three hour chase on foot putting enough strain on his bio-mechanical heart to make him tired. Usually, he would switch his eye lenses into night vision, a standard procedure for cops when entering dark conditions, but the heart had rerouted his remaining bioelectricity to strengthen his body for the run. He and his partner, Robert Frost, were coming to the end of a high-speed chase of a suspected murderer. This chase, however, was kept far from the public eye and perhaps, even farther from the ever-watchful eye of his superiors. He and Robert had agreed to keep the Captain out of the loop for just a bit longer, until they were completely sure this was their jurisdiction, but this no longer meant a legal jurisdiction. For these two partners, they used this term a little bit more liberally when it came to cases like these.

When he and Bob walked into a crime scene where the victim's neck was torn open and the body was drained of blood, they would give the Captain the bare amount of information to keep him off their tails. Because this was no longer their jurisdiction.

It was hers.

They figured this out two Novembers ago, on a dark night. It was a situation much like this: a murder suspect fleeing the scene of the crime, a long chase and an eventual run into the dark sewer. But that time, they had no idea what they were up against. The thing grabbed Bob and Mike fired four rounds of high-powered electricity into its chest. Usually, for a human, the shocks would stop its heart. But the thing was barely faltered. Instead it turned and leapt onto Mike, its mouth open wide and its teeth freakishly pointed. It seemed to go directly for his neck, like the other victim. That's when she showed up.

The thing was suddenly thrown away from him and it collided with a brick wall. Above him stood a blonde, her hair blowing in the wind and her face a mask of concentration. He was about to call out to her, tell her to run, when the thing attacked again. But with a swiftness that he had only heard about in the Prototype Tai Fighters of the NRDC, she flipped him to the ground and knocked him unconscious. She clapped iron cuffs, the kind his grandfather used to use in the academy, to his hands and carefully injected something into his neck. And then she stood up and smiled. It was the most beautiful, startling and shocking smile he had ever seen. Her skin was young, as if she were only seventeen, but her eyes spoke of a much older age. They had seen and done things that were far beyond the eyes of a teenager. Knocking her captive to the side, she stepped forward and extended a gentle hand.

"Hello, officers. My name is Caroline Forbes. And it would be totally fantastic if you could forget what you just saw."

After some prodding and even an arrest threat, Ms. Forbes flipped out her ID badge and revealed herself as "Private Investigator Caroline Forbes". This man was linked in a case of one of her clients and she was hoping to question him later on. But she knew of his violent past so she took extra precaution. Mike was just about to ask further about the case, when the subject woke up. Immediately he struggled against his cuffs, his teeth oddly elongated again. But they seemed to burn him, smoke rising from his flesh. He stumbled and Rob fell backwards in an effort to escape. His arm cut against a rock and blood poured out of the wound. The man's nostrils flared and he leapt forward, his teeth gnashing and his eyes wide and suddenly pitch black. He barreled down on a defenseless Bob— when Caroline sprung up behind him and stabbed him in the back . . . with a wooden stake. The man's skin grayed, his body freezing like rock, and then he crumpled over, dead as a headstone.

Caroline sighed and put the stake back into her jacket pocket. "I was really hoping I wasn't going to have to do that. I really wish you could forget that as well."

It soon became clear that neither officer was going to let her go without some explanations and so with a sigh, Caroline told them that the man she had just killed was a vampire. ("Yes, like from Dracula 2.0", she said shaking her head.) He was a new one though, unable to control his urges for blood and that's what led to the death of the stripper known as Jazzy Sauce. Caroline had come from Seattle to try and teach new vampires (she called them fledglings) how to control themselves and stay out of the radar of the human law. Obviously she hadn't gotten to this one in time. But she asked them to stay out of cases like these when they come up— or at least call her when they found a mutilated body.

Both Mike and Rob had agreed. And Mike hadn't stopped thinking about her since.

* * *

A frog-rat pounced along the grime of the steam-way maintenance tunnel. The vital signs on his visor told him it was startled but soon the signal was lost as it disappeared into the dark. The government thought it would be a brilliant idea to epitomize the useful benefits of both rats and frogs as economical wavers. Mike didn't really agree. He thought the slimy coats were nothing short of disgusting. But it was the future after all.

The dust from the movement of steam-way above him filtered down through his visor. He was entering the older part of the tunnels; the newer sections were frozen in metallic granite and never moved an inch. Suddenly, the lip of the walk way broke off and Mike found himself in a wide, open stone cavern. A Central-Communication-Hub stood in the center of the maintenance room, its holographic knobs constantly shifting in an out of sight as the signals changed. Metal tubes spiked out from the Hub like fingers, pulsating with information across the country and in between other steamy-way stations.

Mike's visor picked up a bloody handprint on a nearby wall, a bloody footprint a few steps away and a large smear across the room. He stepped over the line of tubes and followed the markings, the lights from the Hub electrifying the walls. A news reporter from channel five flickered on the wall as he put a boot on the other tunnel hole.

"That makes a second unsolved murder in a month for the Seattle Police department. No details on the culprit or suspects have been released. The only warning we are given is to stay inside doors at night and if you must travel, then do so in groups. More information later, at one."

Mike's heart tightened, a beep sharp in his ear informing him of what he already knew. He needed to catch this guy, to give something back to the Captain. He knew it wouldn't end well for the vampire, but at least no one else would be at risk. The other reason why his heart jumped lay in the thought that either way, at the end of the road, he'd get to look at her hair, that blonde hair, again. Maybe this time, he could subtly, coolly, discretely, give her his phone number. And then they could go out for dinner sometime, or something. Maybe he could touch that hair, maybe—

As he stepped into the cavernous space of another CCH room, something knocked him to the ground. It slashed at his visor, tearing away at the protective shoulder padding. It was insanely strong. _If I live, I swear I will apologize to Bob for calling him a softy_, Mike thought as he fired his handgun aimlessly and perhaps hopelessly. One of the vampire's nails scrapped against his cheek and broke the visor in half. Cheered on by its own success, the fangs grew bigger and he jerked at the armor. With a snap, the shoulder padding broke in two and it bent down, Mike's arms pinned to his sides, with its mouth wide. _Well, let me die now, so she doesn't see it end like this!_

* * *

Private Investigator Caroline Forbes heard the struggle three tunnels over. She rolled her eyes. How many times had she told those guys to go in pairs and they just didn't listen? Shaking her head, she bolted off into the darkness, the near-consuming blackness not a problem for her superhuman sight. She turned around corners, up through rooms and over wires. She found the struggle just before things took a turn for the worst. The fledgling had Mike pinned down, his fangs inches away from the cop's throbbing pulse.

_Well, this is what you get . . ._

"Hey, ugly!"

The fledgling's mouth snapped shut as though she had hit him over the head with a rock. It turned, hissing like a furious cat, its eyes slit into glowing pricks.

"What is it, Princess?" It growled.

"There's something on your face."

"Caroline—," Mike gulped from the ground. "Is this really the best time to be giving this guy facial tips?"

"There's always time for facial tips, duh." Caroline said simply. "But that's not what I'm talking about."

"Then, enlighten us, sweet cheeks." The vampire growled.

Caroline's nose wrinkled. "Stick with 'princess'. Makes you look less like an arrogant dick."

"Who the hell are you to tell me what to do? And come on, I'm right in the middle of dinner here, lady."

Caroline's demeanor softened. "I'd like to say I'm your friend. If you don't eat Mr. Nice Police Officer. I can help you controls those urges that are setting your head on fire right now. I know how you're feeling and what you want and I can help you be a good person. You don't have to be a killer. You can stop here."

The fledgling frowned. "I'm feeling there's a 'or else' on the end of that sentence."

Her eyes flashed. "You're not wrong."

The vampire grinned, its teeth sharper than ever. "You know what? I like your style, princess, so I'm going to take you on. You're obviously not human, so I'd like to see what you have to offer. I just need a snack to warm up."

He grabbed Mike by the shirt again, his teeth pricking the flesh—

Caroline pounced and with a swift kick, the fledgling went flying into the other wall.

"By the way, the thing on your face was my foot." Caroline shook her head as the fledgling tried to climb to its feet, without success. "And didn't your mother ever tell you not to fight on a full stomach?"

"My mother was a crack-whore who had me then ditched me on a orphanage door step two weeks later." The fledgling rubbed its head. "I wouldn't know."

Again, Caroline felt sympathy for this guy. It really wasn't his fault he was this way. Bad timing, bad situation . . .

"Look, you little baby vampire you, what's your name?" She crouched down a few feet away from him, trying to look him in the eye.

"Jim. Jim Buckle."

"Well, Jim, I'm Caroline Forbes. I'm just like you. I'm a vampire too. I know want you to drink that guy over there drier than the Sahara desert, but you can't."

"And why not?" Jim Buckle grumbled.

"Well for one, it's wrong. But secondly, it'll make you become something I know you don't want to be."

"And what's that?"

"You'll be dead. And I will kill you" Caroline couldn't loose his gaze now. "But I can help you, Jim. You don't have to be a monster."

His gaze traveled to Mike still on the floor. Caroline tensed, ready to spring if he wasn't listening. The vampire's nostrils twitched, and then his fangs retreated. He sat up and sighed, nodding.

"Fine. No eating Mr. Nice Police Officer."

"Great! Now let's get some nice warm, otter blood in you." Caroline pulled Jim up to his shaky feet. "It takes a little funny on the way down, but the aftertaste is actually pretty good." She dusted off his dirt-covered sweater, smiling happily. "There, looking better already! Mike, tell Jim he's looking better!"

Mike sat up, looking dazed. "Yeah, he looks super."

His green eyes were blurred and out of focus. There was peach fuzz on his chin. Caroline couldn't help but be reminded of a small little boy, dressed up as a cop, running around in his socks, screaming that he was going to save Gotham. She realized it was a little ironic that she, a vampire in the body of a seventeen year old girl, wanted to protect the cop from the world.

Caroline patted Jim on the shoulder then went over to Mike, grinning softly. "You okay there, Mr. Officer?"

"You look really pretty tonight." Mike muttered, his eyes still trying to find her face.

"It's just my bubbly personality shining through. Do you need some help up?"

"Probably, 'cus I'm feeling a little woozy." He put a hand to his neck and pulled away shiny blood on his hand. "Oh, that's not good."

Caroline heard a hiss behind her. _Oh, crap_.

She had seconds to grab Mike and shove herself on top of him before the fledgling attacked. It missed them and crumpled into the wall overhead but was up again in seconds. Caroline flipped from her hands onto her feet and drew the stake out from her jacket pocket without a pause of regretful hestitation. Jim whipped around, his eyes blazing black again and his fangs bright. There's no turning back now. She could see that. And for that, she was genuinely sorry.

He pounced, but he was a mess of aggression and blood lust now. He was raw power, blind rage. Controlled accuracy would win in this fight every single time. And she had been building her accuracy for the past one hundred years.

Jim lunged forward, his teeth bared. Caroline swept low to the ground, her leg outstretched. He blindly stumbled to the ground, his face smashing into the concrete. Caroline slid to her feet, the stake high over her shoulders.

"I'm sorry about this, Jimbo. I really am." She swung down in an arc into his back. The fledgling shuddered, his skin color fading and graying. He had barely enough time to jerk in pain before his skin, muscles and bones froze and Jim Buckle, the new vampire, died.

Caroline righted herself, her head shaking. "Poor chump." She turned back to Mike, who still hadn't regained full consciousness. He was trying to get up.

"Whoa, there, cowboy." Caroline caught him as he nearly tumbled back to the ground. "Where are you headed to in such a big hurry?"

"Bad guys to catch, and stuff . . . to report."

"Okay, Batman. But let's just get you to a hospital first."

Mike nodded weakly as Caroline dragged him forward, starting their arduous walk back up to the ground level. But then he suddenly stopped.

"Wait, you said something that was weird."

Caroline raised an eye at him. "Have you heard me?"

"No, about, um, vampires . . . you train vampires, don't you?"

"Not to be monsters, yes."

"But— you, you— and vampires— really?"

"Looks, like someone got hit on the head a little too hard, didn't they?"

Mike mumbled his agreement, his expression both pained and in awe.

* * *

They had run into Bob about halfway up through the tunnels. Caroline filled him in as he grabbed his partner.

"He couldn't take it." She said, as they continued walking. Bob pressed a small red button his visor that called an ambulance to their location. "There are some that just can't be stopped. Maybe, if he hadn't killed those two girls earlier, maybe he could have controlled it—,"

"Maybe, we could hurry, just a lil' bit. My head hurts loads." Mike grumbled.

They walked on through maintenance tunnels, back towards the opening to the main tunnel near the electric plant.

"You're such a baby." Caroline muttered.

"Been telling him that for years." Bob said astutely. "But you ganked him right? Er, staked him, is that what you call it?"

"Yep. I had to stake him. You could say he jumped in front of a steam train. I've heard those things go pretty fast."

"Unfortunately we might have to go with that. We got lucky with these other murders, with the victims being hookers and all." Considerably older than his partner, Bob was now panting slightly. "But now, with Cindy, they're going to want an explanation."

"You could always bring them the crackled body of one Jim Buckle."

"Very funny. But at least we have a name this time."

They reached the entrance and Bob paused, Mike slipping in and out of consciousness.

"Thank you, Ms. Forbes."

"Just doing my civic duty, sir." Caroline giggled and saluted. "I've always wanted to say that." Far away they heard the familiar screech of an ambulance drone. "And that's my cue to skedaddle."

She carefully pulled away from Mike, Bob steadying himself for the extra weight. The older cop watched her wearily as she straightened her weapons belt.

"Look, I know Ninny Boy here has made it painfully obvious but, we think you're pretty okay. You've obviously got a good head on your shoulders, not to mention you kick more ass than the two of us combined. And maybe, after this kid gets in a good hospital bed, you'd come over to my house for a nice meal. The wifey is making meatloaf and I swear to you, it's the best meatloaf this side of the Mississippi."

Caroline smiled, allowing her mind to drift to a homely setting if only for a moment.

"Thanks, Bob, but I can't. Tonight's the anniversary of something very important and I kind of need to be alone."

Bob nodded, his massive walrus mustache twitching. "It was just a shot. But Galinda would kill me if she let knew I let you walk away, looking the way you do. You're all skin and bones!"

"Gotta keep fit for the hunting . . . or saving, or rescuing, or whatever it happens to be on a Thursday night." Caroline grinned.

The drone was coming closer.

"But if you're ever near Fremont—,"

"I'll look you up. I promise." She kissed his leathery cheek. "Tell Batman here, good work when he wakes up."

Bob rolled his eyes and looked down at his unconscious partner. "Oh, I'll be sure to do that. He hangs on your every word, you know—,"

He looked up, grinning, but the expression faded as he realized he was alone in the mouth of the maintenance tunnel. The ambulance drone had touched down and men with boxes were running towards them. Mike suddenly jerked awake, looking bleary-eyed.

"Did we get 'em?"

"Yeah, we got 'em."

"Did I get knocked unconscious? Again?"

"Yeah, that too."

"Did she see me?" Even through the probable concussion, Mike looked embarrassed. "Did she have to save me again?"

"Oh, no, you saved her. You saved her in the nick of time, but fell over a loose piece of wiring."

"Did she see that?"

"No, Mikey, she didn't."

"So I still got a chance?"

The medical team took him from Bob's arms and loaded him onto a stretcher.

"Yeah, Mikey, you still got a chance." They wheeled him off, but he slipped into unconsciousness again, only this time with a smile on his face. Bob brushed his thumb against his visor and it collapsed into his ID card. He stored it in the pocket of his trench coat. He paused momentarily, looking into the electric sky at the end of the tunnel, before one of the airmen waved at him to get on the drone. Shaking his head, he followed Mikey into the sky. "With a girl like that, you got a chance in hell."

* * *

Caroline stood on the roof of an abandoned fishing warehouse. She could still smell the fish oil clinging to the bricks even though places like these had been shut down since non-automated factories had become irrelevant. She remembered when production lines across the country no longer require human workers. It was an odd transition, sometimes painful for loss of jobs, but somehow, they managed through it. She still never forgot the day she first took a flying taxi down to the railway station (they hadn't switch to steam yet because the steam engines weren't equipped to handle massive trains). She was one hundred and twenty years old and the world could still amaze her.

The drone faded into a sharp, bright star in the black night, blurred out by distance and the brightness of the city lights. Hover cars raced in between buildings and energy pulses shot between transistors like darts. Silent, non-motorized shipping boats zipped in and out of ports, their larger slower cargo counterparts puttering along and producing only steam. Larger aircrafts replaced airplanes as a faster, shinier and more relaxing ways to travel. Those ran on a basic schedule, changing almost as fast as the bus schedule used to run. If there was one thing Caroline could say about the future, it was certainly bright.

And yet . . .

She swung down from the fishing building, glided down a rickety metallic stairwell and landed on her feet with a light step. She considered saving a few coins and just using the rooftops to get home but the weight of the day was heavy in her mind. While it became increasingly easier to navigate the city in a series of back-flips and arching twists without concentrating, even so the anniversary was now filling her thoughts like an expanding balloon. So, she hailed a cab and they took off, back to apartment 321 on 6th avenue.

* * *

Carlson greeted her on the front stoop, his arms full of a freshly made casserole. His foggy glasses and flushed skin were an evident signs that he had been cooking all day. As she approached, he scooped out a large spoonful of the casserole and shoved it happily in her face.

"Ok, this one is definitely a winner! It's a pork and bean delicacy, fitted with a bacon glaze and on the side, apples and banana pudding!"

She rolled her eyes at her houseguest. She could barely make out his saucer blue eyes from behind the fog.

"You do realize that we don't actually need human food, right?"

He followed her up the staircase, his chipper mood cracked, if only for a moment. "Yes, Care, I know, but still! I've always wanted to be a gourmet chef and you said I don't have to give up my dreams even if I'm dead! And I thought, hey, if you've got an eternity on your hands, what better way to spend your time than making the perfect casserole! And besides, that bunny blood leaves a weird after-taste in my mouth."

"Shh!"

Ms. Weimar shuffled out from her room on the second floor, suspiciously eyeing the pair as they quickly rounded up the next set of stairs. Her hair curlers shivered with every step she took, her walker thudding as she went. Caroline never knew if it was from old age or the fact that she highly mistrusted new comers, but Ms. Weimar's lip seemed to be in a constant scowl.

"Good evening, Ms. Weimar." Caroline said.

The old lady grumbled something unintelligible but from her shifting eyes, it probably wasn't something very nice.

"Casserole?" Carlson asked, holding the spoon out for her.

Ms. Weimar let out something between a scoff and a cough before turning away, shuffling off towards the ice machine.

"Guess someone got up on the wrong side of the coffin today," Carlson muttered as they continued their climb back to the apartment. Caroline gave him a look.

"Yeah, I know, I know, irony. But I feel like that's a bit prejudice to assume that all vampires sleep in a coffin, because we certainly don't." Caroline unlocked the door and flipped on a light. Simba, a two-year-old tabby they found on the street, appeared from no where and glided in between Caroline's legs, purring happily. The lights shown down on a modest setting: a faux-leather couch with stuffing leaking from near the feet, a TV still with antenna, a kitchen with enough room for one person to open the three-foot fridge and breathe, a bathroom that was the size of a coat-room, and a make-shift "two-room" bedroom that she and Carlson shared. A bookshelf stood idly by in the living room. Caroline had taken some of her favorite novels when she moved out but now it mostly consisted of Carlson's assorted cookbooks. Simba leaped up onto the kitchen counter and began to claw up this morning's newspaper.

"Besides real leather chaffs my skin," Carlson added as an after-thought. He pushed the casserole onto the counter and gave Simba a stern look, as if to say, "don't touch it." The cat seemed to agree but only because he didn't want the casserole in the first place. Carlson turned back to Caroline who was replacing her weapon stash behind the bookshelf.

"You really should eat something, Care. You look tired."

"Well, I am. This guy I took down today, he had already killed two people, drank their blood. He was a little bit stronger than I was. But he was weeks new, so it wasn't that bad and—,"

"I wasn't talking about the fight, Care." For a metro-sexual poindexter of a vampire, Carlson really did have his moments. "I know what day it is."

"Yeah, well, I'm not hungry. I just need to be alone."

"Ugh, come on, Care! Just one bite!" He raced around into the kitchen and pulled out a big spoon full of casserole. "It has a secret ingredient!"

Caroline knew this was his own way of helping, and she really couldn't be mad at him for that. But sometimes she just wanted to pop his head like a grape.

"Fine." She snatched up the spoon and hastily jerked it into her mouth. It was surprisingly better than she expected. "Oh, God, wow! Carlson, this is amazing!"

"Want to know the secret ingredient?" His eyes glittered mischievously.

"If you say anything that begins with 'Lake Titicaca'—,"

"No, it's blood sausage! With extra blood!"

Caroline smiled and helped herself to another bite. "Carlson, you have really outdone yourself this time."

He tried to play off his embarrassment with a snide joke, "Oh, stop it, you!", but it was obvious he really enjoyed the compliment.

"Just don't forget me when you open your massively successful restaurant, okay? Mention me in your chef's version of the Nobel Peace Prize acceptance speech."

"Of course, I will, Care. You saved my life— er, my unlife— and I can't ever thank you enough for that."

She put down the spoon, looking deep into his innocent eyes. Then she reached forward and gave him a kiss on the forehead. She messed up his perfectly styled hair as an after thought.

"You're welcome, little man, you're welcome."

"Okay, you've earned a few hours of moping around. Get back to your hole." Carlson said, flicking his hands as if to shoo her away. "Besides, the new _Sex and the Suburbs_ is on and I so don't feel like explaining why Nancy and Drew are meant to be together, AGAIN! It should be totes obvious . . ."

Caroline rolled her eyes and headed back to their room. "I can tell when I'm not wanted . . . Good night, Carlson."

"Night, Care-bear."

She left him perched on the couch, a fresh bag of animal blood in his lap and straw in his mouth. She closed the door on both him and the TV, on her apartment and Seattle, her new city. She pulled back the dividing curtain between Carlson's mattress and her sorry excuse for a spring bed. There was much that she brought with her on the trip up to Seattle, but everything inside her bedside table reminded her of home. It held her old cheerleading photo, with her at the top of the pyramid as Captain. It held her high school graduation diploma and her acceptance letter into Ol' Miss. There was a thumbtack from when she learned to stitch and repair her own clothes. There was her old drivers license from when she was sixteen. It held a strip of her dress from Prom and the crown from when she was elected Prom Queen. There was the saying from a fortune cookie from the Chinese restaurant back home that said, "Nothing in this world that is worth having comes easy."

However, these were the items you could find in any ex-high school student's room. There were no pictures of who she was, no letters from any friends or family. When riffling through this junk, you couldn't identify a single unique quality about Caroline Forbes that separated her from the million of other popular high school students across the nation. It was only when you took out the rusted drawer out of its notch, did you come across anything interesting.

Caroline did that very thing on that late Thursday night. She wiggled and fought with the drawer until, after much scraping, she pulled it out of place and laid it on the bed beside her. She reached deep into the bedside table and carefully extracted a single envelope. It was worn, beaten on the edges and very fragile. She handled it with care, and for good reason, it was nearly one hundred years old.

Every year on this night, Caroline Forbes would sit down, take out the drawer and open this envelope. She would stare at its contents, letting guilt and sadness and anger and confusion wash over her entirely, like water lapping against the shore. This night, like any of the other nights, was no different. It was January 15th and she couldn't imagine this night being spent any other way.

Inside the envelope was an invitation. The corners were peeling and the gold script was fading but Caroline had the image of its original conception emblazoned in her mind. It read:

_You are cordially invited to the wedding of **Matthew H. Donovan and Elena S. Gilbert** on a Friday afternoon, January the 15th, at five o'clock in White Chapel Church in Mystic Falls, Virginia. Reception will be held afterward._

January 15th was a date Caroline Forbes always held in regret simply because she did not go to her best friend's wedding.

At the time, she hadn't seen her friends in fifteen years— some memories burned too hot and bright even then— and this was the chance to be reunited, just like old times. And before she realized it, fifteen years turned into thirty, and then fifty years had passed. Then one day, perhaps through a misguided search on the internet— a subconscious pang of guilt— she found Matt Donovan as President of a highly successful shipping business out of Mystic Falls. The reason for the article of praise, however, was to commemorate the passing of a titan. Caroline found out, through an aimless report, that Matt Donovan was dead. And nobody thought to call her. But then again, how could they? She had thrown her phone into a river the minute she set foot in Seattle.

She knew searching for Bonnie would be no good. She collapsed in the house just like the others had, the magics suddenly too much to handle. But when it came time to clear the bodies away, hers was never found. Caroline often wondered if she simply disintegrated as punishment for the obscene control of nature she possessed that night. With a shudder, she remembered what happened to Tyler . . .

But Jeremy remained, and Alaric, and Elena. Or so she had thought. She continued her search.

Alaric died of a heart attack at age sixty-seven. His long-term girlfriend Madison Harrison died shortly there afterward.

Jeremy died in the arms of three grandchildren, four adult-children and a frail wife of fifty years. He was ninety-nine.

And for Elena, there was nothing. She might have fallen off the face of the Earth and Caroline would never have known.

The only sort of closure she knew about Elena Gilbert was that she was happy. Caroline learned this from her mother, Sheriff Liz Forbes, as she lay on her deathbed. She was eighty-three.

"I'm glad you got out, Caroline," her mother had wheezed, taking her daughter by the hand. "The city has done wonders for you. You don't look a day over twenty."

"It's the sun there, Mom, it's great." Caroline smiled through tears. "Keeps me looking young."

She laughed and it turned into a sob. She kissed her mother's frail hand.

"Caroline, I don't think I told you this enough, but I'm proud of you. If I was ever cruel or unfair, it was because I just didn't understand. All teens say their parents don't understand them, but you really are unique."

Caroline leaned forward, burying her face in the bedding as she sobbed.

"Your friends are doing fine. They say they miss you. They want you to know that they hope you are doing well and that you are happy, wherever you are."

"I haven't seen them in forty years and that's all they've got," Caroline laughed weakly, trying to clear her eyes. She looked back up at her mother, who took her hand and kissed her palm.

"Don't be too hard on them. They're only human after all."

"Did I make the wrong choice, Mom? Should I have stayed? But after everything, after Tyler, after Dad—,"

"The only bad choice you made was doubting yourself, honey." She cracked a toothless grin. "The Salvatore boys also send their regards. They say they've given up human blood, for good."

"Even Damon?" Caroline sniffed.

"Even Damon. It was their wedding present to Elena. She looked beautiful. They wished you could have been there, but understood why you couldn't."

"Was I wrong, Mom? Should I go back?"

Her grip around her daughter's wrist suddenly became weak. Her eyes fluttered to a close. Her voice was fraying.

"I love you, Caroline. You were always my little girl, no matter who you became. I'm proud to be your mother."

The monitor flat lined.

Caroline's heart suddenly clogged her throat. She couldn't breathe. Her eyes were swimming in tears.

"Mom? Mommy! MOM!"

Liz Forbes was dead.

Trembling, Caroline crossed her mother's wizened hands and drew the sheet up over her face. When she stumbled out of the room, she met eyes with a nurse. Caroline shook her head. Alarmed, the nurse went in to check what Caroline already knew. And then she collapsed into a waiting chair and sobbed until her voice was raw.

* * *

This is what she remembered every January 15th. She remembered that her mother was dead. That her father was dead. That Matt was dead. That Alaric and Jeremy and Tyler and Bonnie were dead. And Elena— well, Elena was probably dead too. And she hadn't even said goodbye.

If someone tried to identify her by the pile of junk stashed in her bedside table, they wouldn't get much. But if they knew the significance of January 15th, then well, maybe they could begin to piece together the immortal woman that was Caroline Forbes, private investigator to the supernatural, who lived at room 321, 6th Avenue of Seattle, Washington. She was one hundred and twenty years old, and this January 15th, she would be one hundred and twenty one.

* * *

_A/N: Hey you guys! Well I'm back for another round of Daroline fics. Before you are all totally confused, this is an entirely DIFFERENT fic from If It Takes the End of the World. While I know many of you requested a sequel, I'm still not happy with much of the current writing to post it. I am much happier with this one, and much further along with it, so this'll have to do. _

_(Be patient with the sequel because I'm also thinking of turning it into a trilogy because I have some awesome ideas, so just calm yo' tities). _

_I'm not a huge sci-fi fan so writing in the futuristic aspects of this is sort of a pain. I'm doing it more or less to give a sense of change, that the people of the old Mystic Falls really are long gone. Besides, it fleshes out the chapters quite nicely. _

_Tell me what you think of Carlson. I'm dying to know! I kind of pictured him as a more adult version of Arnold from the magic school bus, but with blonde hair. Not in how he acts, but how he looks. _

_This is a super long chapter and they probably won't be this long, but I really had to set the stage for the coming clusterfuck (don't you just love those). Also, it might be about two weeks in between postings because I'm actually not that far along and school is starting soon. So yeah :P_

_But I really hope you guys like it! Please let me know in reviews or messages! Thanks guys! See you all next time!_


	2. Chapter 2: Knock on My Door

**Chapter 2: Knock on My Door**

_Caroline Forbes, the social butterfly, intended to make a comeback._

* * *

The sun rose the next morning, peaking through the blinds to her room. It came in streaks, crawling over the floor, and up her blankets. It struck her in the eyes and, with a jerk, Caroline awoke. Immediately she smelled blood, and something sweet— like maple syrup. With only a guess to Carlson's latest "breakfast 'n bled" scheme, she sat up and reached for her bathrobe. But in her hand, the invitation still sat. Embarrassed to see it by the light of day, Caroline hastily put it back in its envelope and back behind the drawer.

She opened her door to the smell of sausages, hash browns and French toast. Carlson came whisking around the corner, his paper chef's hat balanced precariously on his head, and his arms layered with plates and cups of sugar. His homemade apron was covered in flour and grease. He waggled his perfectly trimmed eyebrows at her.

"Happy January 16th, your post-birthday day!" He slid the plates from his arms onto the miniature breakfast table. With dazzling flare, he whipped out a bag of blood from behind his back, tore it open and sprayed the hash browns with a cup of B Positive. "To give it that extra kick! But don't be blown away just yet, because I have created the world's first ever—," he zipped behind the counter again and reappeared with steaming cup of coffee, "—Cappuccino de sangre!" He squirted the remaining amount of blood into the cup. He put the cup on the table, slightly out of breath but grinning from ear to ear, and waited for praise, or maybe for Caroline to burst into tears of joy. "Oh, wait!" As the finale to his performance, Carlson threw confetti into the air from his stash in the back pocket of his corduroys. "Ta-da!"

Caroline watched the confetti settle onto the French Toast. One hundred years ago, she would have been the one throwing the confetti, but now . . .

"You don't like it." His smile was fading fast.

"Oh!" Caroline said quickly, immediately feeling like a complete jerk. "No, no! You're great! This is great! Yum! French toast!"

She snatched up a piece and consumed it in two bites. " 'Ish goo'!"

"Damn right it's good!" Carlson pushed her into a chair, his ruse successful. She rolled her eyes as he began to pour buckets of food onto a platter-sized dish. "I made the hash-browns from scratch because the sorry excuse for a mix was completely offensive. The blood sausage, I had saved extras from last night because I knew the perfect sauce for blood sausage AND hash-browns! Perfect, right? And then, I made the French toast, because, it's French toast, duh. And after _the Suburbs_, an old re-run of Linda Stewart showed how to make French toast with a bare cupboard, and well, obviously that's what I'm working with. So, the universe told me to make French toast so I happily obliged."

Caroline couldn't help but grin and take up the fork he offered. As he blabbered and poured, she ate the food as it came. Still jabbering about the powder for the toast, Carlson went to put another cup of coffee on. Caroline happily watched him as she ate and dipped a sausage in a saucer of blood. His curly, dirty blonde hair floundered above his glasses, his blue eyes bright from excitement. His skinny hands flew from plate, to cup, to dipping spoon and back to a larger plate. His round, wire glasses perched on his thin nose, shivering nearly as much his body did as it twirled around the tiny kitchen.

She had found him exactly like she had found the others. He was holed up in the corner of an alley, covered in blood and scared out of his mind. He had been the victim of what Caroline liked to call "the one bite stand": he had been fed off of, and killed and turned. And then he was abandoned. This is where Caroline stepped in. Fortunately, the only blood he had tasted after his transformation was rat. The pavement around him was littered with their drained bodies. From first glance, Caroline knew he was also the victim of a horrible twist of fate: he was not a killer and never would be. Crouched deep in an alleyway, covered up to his ears in filth, slime and blood, Carlson Adler was crying.

"What am I?" he sobbed.

She brought him home, helped clean him up and let him stay on her threadbare couch. It was only the next morning when he told her that was the warmest he'd been in a year. He had come to Seattle to escape the narrow-mindedness of Jackson, Mississippi and let his fashionista rule. But he found dreams were not enough. Instead, he ended up in shit-hole motel, living off crackers, goat cheese and cat milk. After a year he had expected to be in a pent-house; instead he was in the poorhouse. He woke up under a bridge after a confusing night with a she-male and a bottle of Bacardi gold. He woke up with a headache, his wallet gone and a thirst like he had never experienced.

She had brought other way-ward stragglers home, taught them how to be good little vampires, and then they left. But this one, Carlson Adler, couldn't leave. Neither Caroline nor Carlson seemed very inclined to make him go and soon, he became a necessary fixture in her apartment, just like the bed or TV. He paid little rent, even after he got the online job selling BioNets, the future's version of cell-phones. It was fifteen years after the extinction of cell-phones and yet there were still grouchy old ladies who bought their service over their home phones. But there were very few old ladies who remained grouchy after a phone call from Carlson Adler. He certainly had the voice for television.

He bought the groceries, made the food and even picked up blood bags now and again. But most of all, he was company and that's what Caroline needed most after nearly a century of unhappy roaming. She had told him she had coming running to Seattle after loosing much back in her hometown of Mystic Falls. She even told him about January 15th, what it meant and that her friends were dead, but that was the only bit of background she would give. It soon became obvious that he wouldn't get much at the time, that the full story would come out in pieces, and Carlson had turned the conversation in the direction of TV shows. This is how she learned of the true love that was Nancy and Drew. And that was how Carlson Adler became her best friend and her only friend.

"I got the bill, by the way." Carlson had whipped himself into a cooking frenzy and was eagerly mixing up a new batch of something. But now his face was serious.

"What?"

"If you're going to be private investigator to cases that give the fuzz the willies, then you have to start charging your clients, or else we'll be kicked out on the street. And me without my straightener is not a pretty picture." Caroline began to protest, this argument a common one in the apartment, but Carlson cut her off. "I know, I know, this is all about saving the victims of fate or whatever, but soon someone's going to need to save us— from hunger and the dogs of cold. We'll be fair on the payment, and besides, someone already sent in a check." He added off-handedly.

Caroline swallowed her current bite of hash-brown and glared. "And just how did they know we charged for our services, huh?" She stood up and went over to the counter where the pile of mail sat. Carlson skirted away, shuffling closer to the oven, his big ears flaming. Caroline picked the pile and shuffled it. Bill, bill, junk mail and—

"Ah, ha!"

"Caroline, please, don't be mad—,"

She ripped open the invoice just as Carlson lunged at it. She read the note out-loud, dancing around the room and keeping the little vampire at bay with one outstretched hand.

" 'Dear Ms. Forbes, your service to me has been invaluable! But to really start this letter out properly, I must say your secretary is simply divine!' Secretary! You're my _secretary_?" Caroline paused, giggling, the word delicious on her lips. Carlson's ears had shifted to a crimson-red now. "You are totally my secretary now!" She continued reading. " 'His manners are astounding and I happily gave over my monetary payment in return for both you and his help'." Caroline let out another throaty chuckle. " 'But what you have given me is worth far more than money, or thanks. You have given me back my life and there are no words to express my deep gratitude. I wanted to do die and you've given me reason to live.' " The smile faded from her lips but she was compelled to read on. Carlson stopped grabbing at the letter. " 'I have reunited with my wife. I have told her what I am and she has accepted me for it. I thought I had leave everything behind when I found out I was a monster, but you showed me something different. You saved me from the darkest depression and filled the world with a better light, a brighter light. I ran because I was scared and it turned out I was leaving a lot more behind. We're expecting a baby boy in March. Thank you, Caroline, for giving me back a life and my son. It was worth every penny. Sincerely, Franklin Gump'."

The letter dropped from her limp hands and a crisp check fluttered to the ground. Caroline watched them fall with an open mouth.

"Caroline?" Carlson asked hesitantly.

She had collected a little money from other thankful clients as well, but never had she received a letter like this. Never a letter, thanking her so profusely, never a letter saying she saved a life. Carlson bent down and picked up the check and the letter. His eyes widened as he looked at the amount on the check. "Caroline, this is big, like crazy big. Like white blood cells only big. Like jack pot big—,"

Caroline blinked, the touch of humanity's kindness still rocking her to the core. And then she sighed.

"Let's celebrate." Caroline moved back to her room. "I'm going out to get to some champagne."

"Aww, I wanna go! I was inside all of yesterday to master my casserole and then all of this morning making your birthday breakfast so I've been inside for hours and I'm bored!"

"You? You're bored?" Caroline sniggered as she changed into jeans and a shirt.

Carlson scowled his little boy scowl, crossing his arms in rebellion. "No, I've just run out of recorded _Sex and the Suburbs_ episodes on the HVR."

Caroline nodded knowingly, smirking. "That's what I thought."

"But seriously, Care, I'm dying. It's not fair that you get to wear the Invincibility Ring all the time! I'm your housemate, not your cellmate!"

Caroline looked at the tiny blue jewel on her finger. She remembered the day Bonnie made it for her. She had never been more excited to stand in the sun again. "You know this ring has sentimental value." She said pointedly.

Carlson, realizing he had stepped on a nerve, immediately backed off. "Yeah, yeah, I know." He grumbled. "But still, it sucks! I hate being all cooped up!"

"Just chill for one more day, okay? I'll be back soon, with the good bubbly!"

"Fine, but I will do so grudgingly."

Caroline rolled her eyes. "Would it make it any better if I said you could attempted the 'Baked Alaska'?"

Carlson's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "Are you serious!"

"We're celebrating after all," Caroline grinned playfully. She grabbed a scarf and slipped on her coat, carefully folding the check into her pocket. "But seriously, don't burn the house down."

"Yes, ma'am." He was already bent over in the kitchen, searching for the right pots and pans.

"Carlson, I don't want to come back to a smoldering pile of ash."

"Uh, huh."

"Carlson—,"

"God, you're making ME nervous! Get out!"

Caroline smiled as she closed the door. "Bye, Carlson."

"Get out, woman!"

* * *

"Officer Michael Sheldon, please."

The crotchety nurse glared at Caroline from over her red rhinestone glasses. She fluffed the stack of papers in her pink talons as her eyes inspected Caroline from head to toe with a disapproving glare.

Caroline stood at the visitor's center in Barton Hospital, the champagne bottles stashed in her overly large purse and a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She figured she'd give Carlson a few hours to bask in the glory of his latest experiment and this had been on her mind for a while now. Carlson's phrase of "being cooped up" remained firmly on the edge of her memory, vaguely hearing it in a lull of noise. It had been ten years since she settled here and Carlson, and of course Simba, were her only friends. Caroline Forbes, the social butterfly, intended to make a comeback.

"Name?"

"Caroline Forbes."

"Sign in, please." The nurse shoved a tablet under her nose. "Sign here, and here. Oh, and read it."

Caroline put the stylus to the screen, briefly scanning for any bizarre legal clauses.

_Relation to patient._

Caroline paused, scrolled the word _friend_ into the blank and signed the final line. The nurse checked the documents with a disapproving eyebrow high on her forehead. She turned, hobbling off down the hall, motioning for Caroline to follow. She swallowed the sudden rush of thirst in her teeth: the smell of blood was everywhere. She closed her eyes, letting the noise of the nurse's shoes thudding against the tile guide her.

"Here. He's up. Breakfast is in an hour." The nurse opened the door and plodded off without so much of an introduction.

Caroline poked her head into the room. Mike was sitting up, his arm in a sling, and his eyes fixed on the holographic baseball game playing in the corner of his room. The moment he saw her, he flushed red and turned off the game. He sat up higher and subconsciously attempted to flatten his hair.

"Hi, Caroline."

"Hey, Mikey." She snuck into the room, vaguely remembering the last time she was in a hospital room. She found an empty water jug and stored the flowers there. And then she became at a lost of what to do next. Sitting down seemed too formal. So, she kept a less awkward distance at the end of the bed. Mike seemed to notice, but he tried for conversation anyway.

"So, last night, bad guy, staked him. You kicked ass and I got my ass kicked. Sounded like a regular Thursday night. Am I leaving anything out?"

Caroline grinned shyly, her eyes diverted. "No, that sounds pretty right. I had some pretty witty comebacks."

"Right, something about facial tips for the blood-sucking vampire. Did he listen?"

She let out an actual giggle. "Not exactly."

"Yeah, you mentioned there was ass-kicking doled out."

"Totally. Once there was my foot in his face, there wasn't much that moisturizer could do."

They both laughed easily and Caroline sat down on the bed. Mike tried to move to make room, but his arm tinged. He grimaced.

"Still banged up?" Caroline asked, worried.

Mike nodded slowly, as if unsure to let on to the amount of pain he was in. "Just remind me to give Bob his dues. Those things are crazy strong."

"We are the ultimate predator." She gave him an awkward grin.

He frowned.

"But you don't hurt people, do you?"

Caroline frantically shook her head. "No, not at all! I eat animals! It's all bunny blood and deer smoothies for me!"

Mike's features softened, his thin mouth pulling sideways. "You're too lovely to be a monster."

Still a hundred years later, Caroline felt her heart pinch. _You don't know me at all_. Her downcast eyes traveled to the wires trailing from the metal monitors into his bioheart.

"Why do they still have you hooked up? You look pretty healthy to me."

"That chase really took a lot out of me. I guess running in front of trains and traffic isn't as easy as it used to be." He tapped the metal circle inserted above his heart. "The nurses have me hooked up, recharging the bioelectricity, so I should be up and getting my ass kicked again in no time."

"Good, because this city suffers without its greatest hero on the job." Caroline said, smiling. He returned the smile, his baby eyes searching her face. The longer they looked, the sharper his smile fell.

"What?" She asked, suddenly aware of the shift in atmosphere.

"Why did you come here, Caroline?" His voice was hopeful. "We've known each other for two years and I've been hurt before but this is the first time you've come to visit. Why?"

Caroline's smile was gone too and now she fiddled with her hands. "I—I don't know. That guy seemed to hit you pretty hard, and I guess I was feeling a little guilty."

"I've been hit before, Caroline." Mike reached forward, touching her hand gently and his own full of trepidation. To his great joy, she didn't pull away. But she wasn't looking at him either. "Maybe you came here for another reason. A reason that scared you at first, but the more you thought about it, the more you liked it."

"No, no, that's not it—," she tried to stand up but he took her by the wrist, making her look at him. Her eyes felt wide in her head.

"Caroline," Mike said forcefully. It was horribly obvious he had rehearsed this multiple times. Caroline's head started pounding, her hands clammy. She couldn't get the image of him saying her name over and over again in front of a mirror. "I like you. A lot. And I just want to try us. I need you to really think about you, and me, and us—,"

"No, I can't!"

"Yes, you can! Just try it! Think about it, please! I think about you all the time!" His hands burned on her skin. "Caroline, I'm begging you. You're in my breath, my head, my tongue— I want you—,"

Caroline leapt to her feet, her head feeling like it was on fire. She wanted to crawl into a hole and never be seen again.

"GET OFF ME!" She screamed. "I don't want to and I can't! No, Matt, no!"

Mike pulled away, his face a mask of confusion and pain. "It's Mike."

"What?" Caroline was panting.

"My name's Mike. You called me Matt."

The air in the room had been sucked away in a single sharp action. Caroline snatched up her purse from the ground.

"I'm sorry. I have to go."

* * *

Going to the hospital was a massive mistake. She saw that now. She had picked up on all the signs that said he was into her, and she ignored them. Because she didn't want to have to face the consequences of a crush, of someone else seeing her in that light, seeing her as an object of lust. Since Tyler died, she hadn't been in a relationship. Sure, she had the occasional fling to get her rocks off, but nothing nearly as intense or passionate as she had come to know with her Lockwood boy. She fled the hospital room because she saw that impossibility change. Mike wanted something real, something deep with her. And right now, she couldn't handle it. There were still dark pieces of herself that came to the surface now and again, like black paint peeling from an old sign. There were times when she could barely hold it together. Being there for someone else was simply ridiculous.

She had broken into the first champagne glass by the time the taxi had pulled up the apartment building. It felt like January 15th was continuing, the same anger and guilt rolling over her like hot lava, spilling into another day. She just wanted it to end.

"So, I'm guessing the trip to the liquor store contained a little detour." Carlson said as she opened the door, which was still standing and fire-free. "Baked Alaska is almost done, if you care to know."

"I do, and I got the fizzy bubbly to celebrate."

"And you've already started."

Caroline kicked off her shoes and slumped onto the couch. "I'm not drunk, Sister Theresa. I'm in a mood. I went to the hospital to check on Mike."

"Ah. That explains why a thirty minute trip took three hours."

Caroline scowled and took another swig of champagne. "He made a move on me. He wants us 'to be together'. Yuck!"

"I've seen him and nothing about him says 'yuck', Caroline." Carlson shook his head as he poured out the batter into a pan. "Is this about one of your 'past sensitive' issues?"

". . . yes."

"Does this have to do with the 15th?"

"Double yes. Ugh, this day blows."

"It can't suck that bad because you are about to eat a stolen delectable dish of the gods."

"Do I suck, Carlson? I just tried to make a friend and he tried to French me. What's wrong with me?"

"Babe, absolutely nothing."

"Then why have I been feeling crummy for the past one hundred years?"

There was a knock at the door.

Caroline sighed, dropping the bottle to the ground and she went to answer it. When she opened the door, she saw no one there. Until she looked down.

Staring up at her was a little twelve-year-old girl. She wore a black hoodie over flaming red hair and a ragged backpack sat on her shoulder. In her hand, she held a torn piece of paper and a Taser in the other.

"Are you Caroline Forbes?" She asked sternly.

Caroline blinked. "Yes. Who are you?"

"My name's Quinn Gables and I need your help. I can pay you any amount of money for your services."

"Services? What are you talking about?"

The little girl scowled. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"You have a Taser. You're making the rules right now." Caroline leaned on the doorframe, grinning.

Her green eyes narrowed. "Don't patronize me. I'm only twelve but I've got a lot more than people give me credit for. I'm not pathetic."

Something about the little girl's choice in words touched something in Caroline's memory, to a time when she was considered pathetic simply because she was human. She met the girl with a steady gaze.

"Fine," Caroline said. "Come on in."

"Thank you." Quinn said, stepping into the apartment. She took a look around. Carlson paused in his baking to watch the girl take in the small room. Her sharp eyes finally found his.

"Who are you?" She asked quickly.

"You're in my house. I asked first. Who are you?"

"Quinn Gables. Your turn."

"Carlson Adler. Nice to meet you."

The little girl turned back to inspect the apartment. "I haven't decided that yet."

Caroline shut the door and locked it. Carlson was desperately trying to catch her eye. _Who the hell is she_, he mouthed. Caroline shrugged.

"I know you guys are talking about me." She began to look through the books on the shelf, scrutinizing them as if for error. "I'm right here, you know."

"Sorry, Quinn, you just sort of showed up, clearly knowing who I am, and I have no idea who you are. Mind filling in some details?"

Quinn paused and looked like she was considering the offer. And then she nodded. "Ask away."

"What do you need? Why did you come and see me?"

"You help those who can't help themselves, right?" Quinn asked seriously, the air of quiet contempt. "Well I don't know who else to go to. The police will laugh at me or take me away from my mom."

"Why? Are you in trouble?"

Quinn sighed, as if truly considering this possibility. "No. At least, I don't think so. The real reason I came here was for my mother's protection. I think someone's hurting her, and I think it's my father."

Caroline shook her head. "Whoa, whoa, that definitely sounds like a matter for the police—,"

"I think he's a vampire."

Carlson gaped at her. Caroline closed her mouth and continued.

"So you know what we are—,"

"Yes. And I don't care. As long as you stop him." Quinn turned to face them, her eyes as hard as emeralds.

"Stop him from doing what?"

"From hurting my mom, Amy Gables. She comes home sometimes with these bruises on her neck and this glazed look in her eyes. I'm not stupid enough to think the town's local legends are just ghost stories. I know real danger lies in our town."

Caroline's skin suddenly went cold. Her tongue swelled up and she couldn't speak. Carlson picked up the interview.

"So you got some supernatural domestic violence going on. What's your dad's name, kid?"

Quinn gave him a steely-eyed glare. "_My_ name is Quinn." She said harshly. But then she softened and concentrated on Caroline. "And my dad's name is Damon Salvatore."

* * *

_A/N: Hey so yes, I know I added another OC to the mix (and then we'll meet Amy Gables later on) but bear with me. They are important to the story! Especially the Gables! And I promise somewhere along the road, we're going to see some of the old gang too, but who? And why are they back? Muahaha! _

_And yes, this is a little bit of a slower start than my other multi-chapter fic. But the characters of this fic have a lot more baggage than the other one. They've had 100+ years to stew on all the bad things that happened in the past. As I'm sure you all know, I love character development and to change a character, you first must establish them. And I'm trying to establish a very different Caroline and— and soon you'll meet—VERY Damon. This is probably the most AU fic I've written, in terms of the characters saying and doing things, that they may not do in the CURRENT world of the fandom. But I believe this is how the characters would react if something this devastating had happened to them— and if you disagree, please let me know! _

_One last thing and I'll let you guys go— when I post a lyric in the beginning of each chapter, that is usually the song that inspired the chapter or fits the tone of the chapter/fic. So I highly recommend listening to the songs I post. Specifically, the one I posted for chapter one. That song is the reason I wrote this fic; it fits SO beautiful with everything!_

_School starts next week so if I update a little later than usual, I apologize!_

_See you next update! Also, thank you for all the reviews and favs! You guys make my life!_


	3. Chapter 3: Questions Before Answers

**Chapter 3: Questions Before Answers**

_You're not done in Mystic Falls. I know that and you've known that for the past one hundred years. It's fate, almost, you know?_

* * *

Caroline was absolutely frozen.

Damon.

Damon.

Damon.

Salvatore.

She hadn't thought of that name in eighty years.

"Is she going to be alright?" Quinn asked, eyeing the pale Caroline. Carlson was itching to ask her questions, but figured it would be better to act professional in front of a potential client.

"Yeah, she'll be fine." He said. "She just gets like this sometimes."

"She goes blank like a dummy? Maybe this wasn't the right place."

Carlson narrowed his eyes at her. Quinn countered with an airy look of her own. He broke first and motioned to the couch. "Okay, look, if we're going to help, we're going to need some background."

Quinn paused, obviously hesitant.

"You can keep the Taser out if it makes you feel better."

Clearly it did because she marched over to the couch, found a place that didn't leak stuffing and sat down. Her eyes caught a spot on one of the arms and she maneuvered herself out of the way, her face in a scowl of uneasiness.

Carlson watched her with smirk, but then turned back to Caroline. She was shaking. Carlson led her into a counter stool. He put a glass of water near her.

"Look, I have no idea what's going on in that big head of yours, even though I'm dying to know. Clearly, something about that name means something to you and I think it's important that we follow up on this case. You just stay here and regain some consciousness and I'll do the investigative stuff. Just sit tight."

Suddenly Caroline frowned, looking at him through a haze. "I don't have a big head."

"Just as long as you believe that." He kissed her forehead and grabbed a notepad on the counter. He slid onto the couch next to Quinn, who seemed to take personal offense that he had entered her space bubble.

"Okay, so tell me about yourself, kid." He began, pen at the ready.

"I'm 4'3, a natural red-head and people tell me I don't play well with others." She had crossed her arms, again her eyes narrowing. "How about you?"

"I meant about the case. How long has this abuse been going on? When did you first notice signs of abuse? Has he ever attacked you?"

Quinn's demeanor suddenly became very soft. "He's never hurt me. He's always been real nice to me, except lately. He's become moody and depressed. Sometimes his breath smells like alcohol. But he's never hurt me. I've never actually seen him hurt my mom, but Damon, he just disappears for long periods of time during the night. But he's always back by morning."

Carlson, never a stranger to domestic uneasiness and divorced parents, caught the change in tone. "He's not your biological dad, is he?"

Quinn shook her head. "He and my mom started going out two years ago and he just moved in. He tells me he wants to propose but the timing isn't right. And now, this. I don't know what's going on."

And Carlson could see that truly not knowing, or having the ability to understand, it tore Quinn to pieces. He wanted to reach out and pat her but feared loosing a hand in the process.

"Ok, so this business about vampires. Don't tell me you think your step-dad is a vampire just because you're Team Edward."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Like I said, my town's ghost stories are more warning than they are pretend."

"And which town would that be?"

"Mystic Falls, Virginia."

_Ooh, intriguing_, Carlson thought fiendishly. _Same town, new people, old people . . . you are so not sleeping tonight, Caroline Forbes. _

"Duly noted." Carlson said, writing a massive asterisk next to the town. "Go on."

"Everyone's heard of the vampire stories." Quinn said. "But I never really thought they were true. And I never thought my mom would date one. But this guy, Damon, he and my mom just hit it off and it was all good. My mom and I moved to Mystic Falls when I was little after my dad died. Damon was the first thing that was going well in my mom's life."

"Still doesn't explain why you're accusing him of being an undead blood sucker."

"I saw him feeding off a deer about a year into their relationship. After some quick searches, I kind of pieced it together through newsreels and articles, animal attacks and the like. He really doesn't try and cover his trail very well."

"So how did your mother take it?"

"She didn't. I haven't told her." Quinn fingered the rough edge of the tazer.

"Why?" Carlson asked, aghast.

"Because that's his business. If he wants to tell her, he can." She pulled her knees to her chin. Her white Keds were covered in dirt. "Besides, she is happy. Really happy. When the bruises heal, she's still happy. He's never rough with her, or angry. He's gentle and patient. But he looks tired. Like life is draining on him. I just don't know what to do."

Carlson frowned, wishing she'd accept a hug but that was probably out of the question. She certainly looked like she could use one, though.

"So tell me about these weird happenings, or whatever, when he goes out at night?"

Quinn was looking into her memory and not at the blank TV screen in front of her.

"It always happens at night. My mom will say that she has to go somewhere— the store, the mailbox, the dry-cleaners— and then leaves. That's when Damon gets sulky. He tells me go to my room and stay there until my mom gets back. I listen and go to my room. But I don't close the door all the way and I watch him. He goes back to their room and comes back with a book. It looks like a thing they used to call address books. I watch the history channel." She added shortly. "So he takes this book. He writes something in it and leaves. She comes back a little before dawn and he comes back at daybreak. She's bruised and dazed and he's sad and tired. This used to happen once every couple of months, now it's weekly."

"So you're saying the pattern is coming closer together."

Quinn nodded. "It used to be only on the full moon, but that's not the case any more."

"How did you find me?" Caroline asked, her voice thick. Quinn watched her momentarily, no judgment or anger, before jumping off the couch and walking over to her. Quinn pulled herself into the seat next to hers.

"I wanted answers and I figured that the best way to get inside his head was to read that book. It's an address book and journal combined. Like I said, it's not Fort Knox." Quinn took out the piece of paper she had been carrying when she first arrived. She laid it flat on the counter. It contained the names and addresses of every one of Damon's acquaintances with the last name beginning with 'f'. It clearly had been torn out from the rest of its pages.

Beyond all the odds, beyond what she had ever dreamed, what she had expected, Damon Salvatore still knew she existed. Somehow he had found her, though she had spent the last one hundred years trying to remove that part of her life, the part that connected her to Mystic Falls. Her skin felt hot from the sudden rush of surprise, anger and finally, relief. Someone, from all those years ago, still cared. _Even it is Damon_, she thought with a grin.

He had also taken the liberty to make more personal notes about some of the people. Eric Foote was a second-class warlock, who still lived with his mother but could open a wormhole the size of the empire state building. _Handy_, he had scrawled in his messy handwriting. Cecily Frost was a selkie that worked in the FBI. She earned a "_Handy, and very flexible_". Marcus Frasier bought and sold "valuable" items from an old pizzeria in New York. Kellie Franco was a harpie assassin in Beijing, China. "_Not worth the trouble of teaming up, but definitely worth the trouble of dressing down_," he had written. And then Caroline came across her own name, which was surprisingly simple. There was a large question mark next to the space for phone number. He had underlined it various times in frustration. He only had the address to her apartment and in the small space under the address line, he had written "supernatural private investigator". But there was something scribbled next to the job. Caroline could only make it out as, "call soon!".

"That's new." Quinn said with eyes that saw much more than they should. "I came to you because he had written that a week ago. I figured as some sort of law enforcement, you could help, or at least talk to him."

Caroline nodded, her head feeling faint. She was suddenly dying for a packet of that blood sausage.

"He mentions you sometimes, you know." Quinn stared at her dirty shoes. "As sort of a memoir thing. I guess you two knew each other in the past. I guess he misses you."

Carlson leapt to his feet. "And that's enough of Creepy, Skeletons in the Closet Interview for tonight. Tell me, Quinny, do you like hash browns?"

She peeled her eyes away from Caroline's blank face. "I like things not drenched, baked, seasoned, or dipped in blood. I'd take a bowl of Coco Puffs if you've got one."

"Captain Crunch?"

She rolled her eyes. "Close enough." She hopped down from the stool and moved to follow Carlson into the kitchen.

"What do you want me to do?" Caroline finally asked. Her throat was dry.

Quinn stared at her with her sharp eyes. "I want you to help me save my family."

"You want me to come back to Mystic Falls with you." It wasn't a question.

"Yes. They don't know where I've gone so I'd like your decision by tomorrow morning. Because then, whatever you decide, I'm catching the next bus back to Mystic Falls. I'd really like it if you came with me. You've got until tomorrow to decide."

She turned and followed Carlson into the pantry. He stood at the door, mouth again hanging at his feet.

"Come on, Skippy." Quinn called from inside the closet. "I can't reach the chocolate sauce and I would literally kill someone for a sundae right now."

* * *

"Caroline, are you sure you want to do this?"

Carlson sat cross-legged on the cot across from hers, biting his lip and tearing his pillowcase to shreds. Simba watched from the bookshelf, his tail twitching. Carlson pushed his glasses onto his head, his soft curls spilling over the rims like a crown. She was reminded vaguely of a highly neurotic lion. Quinn was in the other room with a bowl of Captain Crunch (drizzled with chocolate sauce) and _Letterman_, Season 93 playing on the television.

"You don't have to do this you know", he said.

"Yes, I do." Caroline said firmly. She grabbed her running shoes from under her bed and added them to the duffel bag. She opened the portion of the closet that still remained her after Carlson moved in. _White dress or belt strap that could carry two carving knifes, three stakes and a sawed off shotgun_— _which to choose._

The old Caroline would have grabbed the dress without a second thought. With a sigh, she took the belt and her boot-cut jeans from the top shelf. She turned and found Carlson watching her worriedly.

"Seriously, Care-bear, I saw your face out there. Going back means more to you than just a job and I'm just wondering if you can handle it."

"You're right, it does mean a lot more than just a client. It means having to go back to them, to what I left behind. And yes, it does scare me. But I definitely can take it." She bent down to her bedside table and removed the drawer. She took the letter out and admired it for surviving the test of time. Carlson watched her with his baby eyes sad. "But it's more than just me. It's an apology coming way too late. I have to do this."

Carlson nodded, his eyes suddenly glued to the ground. He huffed and removed his glasses, rubbing his eye. He was crying.

"Aww, Carlie!" Caroline swooped down and grabbed him by his tiny shoulders. "I'll be back!"

"No, you won't!" He sniffed. "And I don't mean that in a negative way, but you're just . . . not. There's stuff that you need to do down there and I just can't shake this feeling that it's going to keep you there." He looked at her through watery eyes, grinning.

"How could you possibly know that?"

"You're not done in Mystic Falls. I know that and you've known that for the past one hundred years. It's fate, almost, you know?"

Caroline frowned. "No. What do you mean?"

"Damon Salvatore has been keeping tabs on you, even though you thought they'd all abandoned you. Now his little girl comes to your door, out of all the supernatural investigators out there, and asks you for help. It's just the ticket you needed."

Caroline sat back, thinking. Carlson put a hand on her knee. "Don't forget me, okay?" He asked quietly. Caroline grabbed him in the biggest hug she'd given anyone in years.

"Never. Never in a million years." She cleared away tears she didn't realize were there. "But look, sun rise is almost here and she's going to want to go, so I need to do this quick—,"

Caroline went to her purse and took out her wallet. She returned with a new check in her hand, and with a bounce on the bed, she took him by the hands.

"This," she said, sniffling and trying to salvage her make-up, "is the remaining amount from the Gump case. And I want you to have it."

"Oh, Care, no, no!" He protested, but she grabbed his skinny wrist and put the check directly into his palm.

"This is enough for you to get on your feet, even open a fashion studio of your own. The point is that it's up to you. I want you to be happy, especially that I'm not going to be here. Besides," she grinned. "I'd only spend it on clothes and shoes."

"Like I'm going to spend it on anything different."

They laughed, and fell into each other's arms.

* * *

"So . . . is the old high school still standing?"

They were boarding a red-eye Shuttle, a few other riders joining through a sleepy haze. They were stuck behind a man with a particularly slow limp as they hobbled to their seats.

"They demolished it a while ago and rebuilt it with the latest technology. Every student is connected to the Mainframe now."

"And that's a good thing?"

"Certainly makes cheating harder. In fact, those who actually get away with it are usually given some sort of kudos from the staff."

"Huh, things have changed."

Without an audible noise, Quinn claimed the window seat and Caroline casually slid into the seat next to her. The entirety of Caroline's possessions over the last century fit tightly in a duffel bag. She knew that meant something important, but to shake off the uneasy sight of the single bag, she told herself it meant her pack-rat habits were finally over.

"Is the Grill still standing?"

"No." Quinn gazed out of the window, eyeing the early morning flight patterns. "It caught fire forty years ago and they rebuilt it into a night club. They also tore down Main Street and connected it to the Central Hub. Basically the Mystic Falls you knew is gone."

"Oh."

Quinn turned, her dark eyes faintly amused. "I was kidding. Actually, Mystic Falls has been pretty slow in renovating to newer tech. The school has been redone a bit, and now everyone uses a BioNet but other than that, it's still pretty old. The city has been spared The Attack of the Chrome."

Just for a moment, Caroline looked out into the dark light, clutching the image of downtown Mystic Falls in her memory. Quinn saw the memory fade behind the wisps of clouds as Caroline leaned back in her seat, sighing.

"You don't get out much, do you?" The twelve-year-old asked, her arms crossed.

"I used to. I used to do a lot of things, but now. Now, I like consistency."

From the corner of her eye, Caroline caught her raising her eyebrows in high disbelief. Quinn stretched out, propping her feet up on the seat in front of her. "This is going to be a long ride."

The Shuttle rumbled and creaked and then took off into the star-brushed sky.

* * *

The Shuttle touched down on Mystic Fall's grounds around three in the morning. The remaining sleep-deprived riders crawled to their feet and oozed out of the shuttle doors.

Next to her, Quinn removed her headphones that had been blasting Bach for two hours (much to Caroline's chagrin) and stored them in her backpack. Caroline stared forcefully at the vomit-inducing print on the seat in front of her. Her heel tapped against the floor. Her knuckles were white.

Quinn caught her fear. She glanced at the vampire's abnormally pale face before shaking her head and standing up.

"You're not going to fall to absolute pieces, are you?"

Caroline glanced out the window. Another Shuttle blocked her view.

"Nope. I'll be fine. Just feeling a little cramped."

Quinn sighed briefly before walking out down the isle and onto the solid concrete ground.

The scent of spring was in the air, the sure sign of change. But Caroline was barely breathing as she stepped out into her hometown. Instead of buses, Shuttles were parked into the twilight darkness and an Auto-man was sweeping out the ticket counter. But for one hundred years of advancement, the Mystic Fall's bus station was surprisingly quiet.

"Come on, Guppy, let's go." Quinn was already walking off towards a back exit.

Caroline shook off the imagined idea of everyone waiting to greet her the day she finally decided to return, and followed the frightfully bright hair in the darkness. Much to Caroline's quiet disappointment, Quinn turned away from Main Street, away from downtown.

"We're walking home?" Caroline asked, peering through the darkness to the surrounding buildings. Nothing horribly different so far . . . "Wouldn't it be easier if you just told me where you lived and I— you know— vamp-sped off?"

Quinn twirled to a stop and Caroline jerked to keep from running her over.

"You may be the vampire saving my mother, but that doesn't mean I like it. Doesn't mean either that I like that my step-dad is a vampire too." Her voice was cold and hard, like the twilight pavement, but her eyes wavered with water. "I don't want to see fangs, blood, or feeding _at all_. I wasn't even supposed to see Damon do it, but sometimes my curiosity overwhelms my intelligence." She said this bitterly, as if she truly regretted her gift of maturity. "I'm sure Damon will fix you up with the feeding thing, but no mention of powers, living or dead. Got it?"

Caroline looked at her for a while, trying to keep any sorrowful ideas away from her thoughts.

"Yes, ma'am."

Quinn narrowed her eyes, then she turned and started off into the darkness again. "Then let's go, Princess."

* * *

They went down dark streets, passed houses with curtains pulled shut. Luminesce Lamps hummed their promise of clean energy from their metal stalks. Televisions droned monotonously from a top window here, or a living room there. Aqua-Movers were beginning their rounds, hopping up from the lawns and scuttling from one end to the other, sprinkling every inch of the grass in fertilized, government-approved water. They took a short cut through a series of fences and low walls. Quinn knew which houses were armed with sensor pads under the ground and which weren't.

"How many times were you caught before you figured out which houses were better armed than others?" Caroline whispered as they danced across the backyard of 4502 Grapevine Lane.

"About twice, before I realized the city's electrical wiring was hack-able to an eight grader."

Caroline gave her a boost up onto the lower wall, to avoid the next backyard. How a twelve-year-old did this on her own was an act of small super-heroism.

"So the authority around Mystic Falls hasn't gotten any better?"

"It's a small town in Virginia with a past of confusing police reports. What do you expect?"

Quinn's latest detour dumped them out at the end of a cul-de-sac. Far in the distance, Caroline saw the etching of a new sunrise on a midnight sky. Quinn fiddled with something in her bag as she approached a red brick house nestled between two white homes.

Caroline held her breath again. She was in a new neighborhood, one obviously recently built— not one she recognized. What would he look like? Would he recognize her? What would he say? Would he be furious?

Caroline blinked as a completely new train of thought slammed into her head. What would _she_ look like?

It was a few moments before she realized Quinn hadn't opened the door. The girl was unscrewing the keypad box with a formidable pocketknife.

"You seriously don't have a key to your own house?" Caroline hissed.

"Our keypad was broken when I left and I'm sure by now they've changed the code. But never fear . . ." Quinn wiggled the pocketknife even further under the metal box. Suddenly it sparked and powered down. She tried the handle again and it swung open. "I have Internet access."

Caroline couldn't see much but it appeared they had entered a greeting room, the kitchen off to the left and a high doorway into the living room in front of them. Without turning on a light, Quinn crept into the living room, not waiting for Caroline to follow.

"Ok, so here's the plan. We go up to my room and I'll set you up there. Tomorrow morning—,"

Something large, thick and heavy slammed into Caroline. It knocked her to the ground, its breath hot in her face and its paws digging into her sides. With a two well-timed jerks of her right arm, she broke free and punched it right in the face. It grumbled but was hardly dazed.

_Okay, plan B_.

Caroline reached up and smashed her forehead into its face. She felt something snap and immediately the creature reeled away. "OW! Son of a bitch!"

That voice.

It was hauntingly familiar. But she couldn't think for long because it pounced on her again. She felt the sharp sting of a red-hot fist swipe her cheek. And then the other one. The third one came but Caroline blocked it and punched for what she hoped to be the stomach. The creature fumbled, groaning. Using her fists as a club, she swung again, praying that this thing had a kidney. It certainly did, yelping as it flew away from her. She heard it crash into what sounded to be a set of fireplace tools. Before giving this thing time to react with pointy metal weapons, she drew her own daggers and rushed in—

—and was greeted with a foot to the face. Caroline collided with the wall.

She heard Quinn fumbling towards the light switch. "No, wait! Everybody stop!" she cried.

"Oh my God, Quinn!" A third female voice entered the fray.

"Mom?"

"Quinn?" A male voice sounded shocked and exasperated.

Suddenly the room was blazoned with light. Caroline blinked rapidly, to get a good picture of her opponent—

And found herself staring directly into the eyes of Damon Salvatore.

His nose was bloody and his short was torn, with two scratches down his cheek. He held the fire poker as a bat, ready to attack, but clearly, this was the farthest thing from what he expected to find attacking him. His jaw nearly unhinged itself. He was dressed in grey drawstring sweatpants and a red plaid button-up shirt. His feet were covered in white cozy socks. His hair was disheveled and he was verging on a beard. But his eyes, they hadn't changed. Beneath the _layers_ of suburbia, he hadn't changed a bit.

"What's going on here?"

Caroline turned her attention to the woman that had just entered from a dark hallway. Scarlet hair tumbled down her shoulders, thick and as soft as gossamer. Her eyes were the color of almonds, dark and brown and imploring for answers. They reminded Caroline of someone she used to know. A tiny frame held up that head dripping with fire, a frame so small, the sharp gust of wind seemed able to bring it down. But the hard-driven eyes and set mouth said 'not with out a fight.' Those inquisitive eyes blinked from Damon to Caroline, and then to Quinn. They widened in anger.

For the first time in two days, Caroline saw Quinn cower. "Hi, Mom."

" '_Hi, Mom_?' Are you _serious_? You up and disappear for two days, TWO DAYS, with no phone call, no way of getting in touch, and I get back a '_hi, Mom'_! Are you high?!"

"Mom, please, listen—," but Amy Gables was already in full swing. She strode over to her daughter, obviously forgetting about the two behind her poised with weapons.

"No, you listen, Quinn Elizabeth Gables!" The red in her hair traveled to her face and neck. Quinn looked like she wanted to hide in her backpack and never be seen again. "You could have DIED! You could have been kidnapped! You could have been whisked off to Neverland, and I don't mean the fun one! You're twelve, you do realize that don't you? You're not fifty-six like your choice in Frank Sinatra and John Gresham novels suggest! You are a little girl and bad people take advantage of little girls!"

"But I didn't die, Mom!" Quinn interjected. "I wasn't in any real danger! She protected me."

The girl pointed to Caroline and for the first time since arriving, Amy Gables really looked at the invader in her home. Caroline caught a glance of herself in a mirror. Her knives were still raised and there was dried blood on her cheek. A black eye was already healing. Thankful for the dim lighting, Caroline put away the knives and attempted a smile.

"Hello, Ms. Gables. I've heard a lot about you. My name's—,"

"Caroline Forbes," Damon muttered. He had also relaxed in his stance but he still gaped at her as though she was a ghost. His eyes roamed her as though the world's secrets were stored somewhere hidden in her pockets. If Caroline wasn't completely mistaken, she caught a glimpse of fear in his eyes.

Amy Gables frowned. "Damon, you know her?"

"Yes," he murmured, "and no. We used to be—,"

"Old friends," Caroline cut in. "Damon and I, we're just old friends."

There was a lull in conversation. Damon's eyes still hadn't stopped searching.

"And she's also a doctor." Quinn stepped in, clearly used to thinking very fast on her feet. "Mom, I know you've been feeling under the weather lately so she's come by to make you feel better. I wanted to surprise you both, but clearly that didn't go over well." She stole a glance at Damon. "I found her in your notebook." She guiltily pulled out the piece of paper from her backpack. "I went through your stuff without asking. I'm sorry, Dad."

That last word seemed to trigger something in his mind, for Damon physically shook his head and glanced at Quinn.

"So theft and self-kidnapping. Your weekend's not looking too bright, lady." He extended a hand and she handed over the piece of paper, her ears flaming. "If I were you, I'd make myself sparse before my step-dad began to remember those sleepless nights worrying about my sorry ass."

Quinn bit her lip, guilty as charged. She gave one more look to Caroline before snatching up her backpack and bounding up the stairs. Damon watched her go with a faint smile on his face. But Amy was less easily convinced. She took Damon's hand as if to assure that he was still there, still with her. Immediately, he wove his fingers in with hers and kissed her on the cheek as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

It was Caroline's turn to be stunned into a silence. Amy watched her with some trepidation.

"So you're a doctor? What's your specialty?"

"Just general doctor stuff, the usual, you know."

Clearly, she didn't know. "I think you need to be more specific. Especially if you're breaking into my house at five in the morning."

"Look, Ms. Gables, I apologize. I was under the impression Quinn knew she was gone, or I would have called." Caroline casually slid the daggers up her sleeves, very well hidden from view. "I had no idea you were so worried."

Amy's eyes narrowed, nearly exactly like Quinn's. "Look, I don't know who the hell you think you are—,"

"Ams," Damon stepped in front of the fiery redhead, a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I know Dr. Forbes. And while, yeah, a little foresight would have been nice, she means well. And besides, no one can give straight answers at the crack of dawn, Ams. Let her sleep and I'm sure she'd be up for questioning later."

His tone implied the only answer to that was a yes. Caroline nodded. "Our flight came in really late. I'm sorry if I'm a little groggy. But tomorrow, I'll prove to you that I'm as much of a doctor as this guy here is a suburban dad."

Damon's eyes grazed an edge of anger for a moment.

Amy didn't notice. She glanced back from Caroline to Damon before sighing. "There's an extra bedroom upstairs."

"Lead the way." Caroline said brightly.

* * *

_*A/N: Will the real Damon Salvatore please stand up? Who is this Suburbia in his place? Has Damon actually lost his mind? And who is this Amy person? Is she Damon's personal blood bank . . . or something more?! DUN DUN! *suspense*_

_Thanks to all who read, favorite, subscribe and review! You make my life!_


	4. Chapter 4: Stranger in a Strangeland

**Chapter 4: Stranger in a Strangeland**

_Wolves in sheep's clothes._

* * *

The rest of the early morning had passed and Caroline hadn't slept a single minute of it. She lay on her back, nestled in cream sheets, and staring at the soft blue ceiling. First dawn grew from a light pocket on the floor, to a balloon on her bed, faded behind curtains that matched the sheets. The comforter was spotted with pink threads and embroidered roses. A chest of drawers sat idly under an oval mirror in the corner. A small picture frame of a boat heading out into sea faced her from across the room. But Caroline didn't see it. She really didn't see any of it. Last night's scene was replaying over and over in her mind.

Was that really Damon Salvatore? Angry, bitter, dripping with sex, Damon Salvatore? Where was the leather, the black jeans, the permanent scowl? Was he really gone?

She heard rustling downstairs, feet moving about and the refrigerator door being opened. Caroline made herself very still in order to amplify the sounds.

"Are you sure she's really who she said she is?" Amy asked as she closed the door, bringing out what was probably the makings of breakfast.

"That's definitely Caroline Forbes." Damon responded but he sounded unsure. "I've known her for years and she can't lie for shit. But I don't always remember her having the capabilities of Bruce Lee."

"Damon, this isn't funny." Amy stopped, probably frowning. "Our daughter is gone for three days to God knows where and she comes back with a woman you haven't talked to in years, claiming to be a doctor to help me feel better. Something's not right here and you know it."

He sighed and a chair moved, as if he was standing up.

"Ams, I'm not saying what Quinn did was right, in any way. You want to punish her and I'll stand right beside you. But Caroline . . ." He paused and Caroline tried desperately to imagine the look on his face. "Caroline is a good person. She would never do anything to hurt Quinn. The Caroline I knew would die before letting anyone she cared about get into harm's way. If she's here to help, then she's here to help, simple as that."

There was a pause.

"How do you do that?" Amy asked quietly.

"Do what?" His voice implied his face was full of smirk. He already knew what she was going to say.

"Make everything be all okay and safe. I know nothing can touch me when you're here to protect me."

"And that's the way it's always going to be."

Caroline didn't need superhuman hearing to know what they were doing now that otherwise kept their mouths occupied. She heard tiny footsteps come down the opposite staircase.

"And good morning to you too." Quinn said, sarcastic as ever. They broke apart.

"And just where do you think you're going, missy?" Amy sounded breathless.

"School, Mom. It's Monday."

"Oh, right, of course. I'll drive you."

"Thanks, because walking five miles would really put a damper on my day. I didn't wear my running shoes."

Amy moved about the kitchen, slipping on shoes and grabbing her purse and keys. "Want breakfast? I know the kitchen's bare but I'll stop by the store after I drop you off."

"I got an apple." Quinn said slightly bored.

"Right, well, great. And, Damon, you'll be fine here, right?"

"Of course. I think I need to drop by the office for a bit, but I can show Caroline around town. Maybe set her up with Dr. Bayer. We'll be fine."

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek before herding Quinn out the door. The moment the door slammed shut, Caroline bolted from the bed, down the stairs and positioned herself casually against the wall.

"Please tell me you actually wear a suit to 'the office'," she smirked. To her enormous surprise, he jumped, startled.

"Jeez, Caroline, what the hell?"

Caroline raised an eyebrow. "And a good morning to you too."

She waited, ready for a quick, sharp comeback, probably demeaning to her as a person and her very existence.

"Ok, I'm sorry. Good morning, Caroline, would you like some coffee?"

He turned and went to start a new pot.

The phrase "dumbfounded" only barely grazed the surface.

"What?"

Damon frowned. "What, you don't like coffee?"

She stood up, giving space between her and the white veneer doorway. She wondered if her boots had tracked in mud. "Yes, I still like it. I just didn't think you did."

"Course, why wouldn't I?" He poured two cups of coffee. He handed her one mug. It was in the shape of a cartoon cat. Its bizarrely wide eyes stared up at her while she took a sip of coffee through its head. Caroline slowly lowered the cup onto the counter next to her and carefully turned its manic eyes away from view.

"So what's for breakfast?"

He reached into the fridge and pulled out a carton of milk and a cup of sugar from the cupboard. Caroline resisted with all her strength not to cringe as he added milk and sugar to his coffee. He caught her watching him.

"Want some?"

Caroline numbly shook her head.

He shrugged and motioned to the toaster behind him. "There isn't much in the pantry, but there's some leftover meatloaf from last week's barbeque. Our neighbor, Harry Nicks, has this sauce recipe that is out of this world!" He grinned happily. "You are welcome to whatever you want. The supplies should be a little better after Amy gets back from the store."

"And you went to that barbeque, didn't you?" That was the only thing she could think to say.

Damon frowned. "Why wouldn't I? I am a notoriously good cook, after all." He smirked at her.

"Did you wear a Hawaiian shirt?"

Damon paused, thinking. And then, he nodded. "Amy got it for me a couple of months ago. It was just up in my closet, just collecting dust and I—,"

"STOP!" Caroline screamed. She grabbed her face, pressing at her skin as if that was the last thing she could hold onto. She knew she looked bug-eyed, verging on crazy, but she didn't care. She had long passed shocked and speechless and now reality was cracking into sheer fantasy. "Damon, JUST STOP."

He watched her, alarmed. "What? What's wrong?"

"YOU!" She cried, throwing her hands up. She buried her face again— she wanted to scream. "Who the hell are you?"

"Caroline, what are you talking about?"

"Have you completely jumped off the deep end? Sugar and milk! Barbeques!" She spat the words from her mouth as though they were acid. "Hawaiian shirts, Damon! Hawaiian SHIRTS!"

"They're very comfortable—,"

"You're a stepfather, Damon!" She screeched. His face suddenly went blank. "You're someone's dad, Damon! Do you have any idea what that means? You're raising a child. You tuck her into bed at night, telling her stories about the monsters under her bed when there's one right beside her! You're a VAMPIRE—,"

Suddenly she was slammed into the wall, his forearm digging into her throat. His eyes were glittered like hellfire.

"Don't say that again." He snarled.

"What?" She could barely breathe but she knew he was hanging onto every word. She laughed at him. "Monster Man doesn't want me screaming vampire from the town square? Got comfortable playing House, didn't he?"

"Don't you dare you ruin this." He hissed. "I'm happy here."

"Is that the lie you tell yourself in the mirror every morning?"

Damon pushed deeper into her neck, his teeth bared. "I'm not lying!"

"But I'm bored." She jerked her leg around his and threw her weight forward. As physics commanded, he fell and collided with tile floor. She snatched the knife always attached to her ankle and stabbed through his shirt, centimeters away from his shoulder. Her knee fell onto his diaphragm and he gasped. "You listen here, and you listen good. I'm stronger than you. I have spent the last one hundred years, learning how to kick more ass then you could ever dream of. Every muscle is my body rock hard and I carry with me an arsenal of weapons just half as tough. You do not threaten me. Got it, Suburbia?"

His face faltered from surprise to anger.

"Fine. Whatever. Just get off of me." Damon grumbled.

Caroline stood up and grudgingly put out a hand to help him up. He took it, looking very uneasy. He eyed her as if she was going to knock him over again.

"So, the discussion of the past clearly makes you uncomfortable, could you just mime where the best hunting grounds are? Because I'm starving."

"Look, I'll take you there but I'm not going to feed. I only feed once a month now."

"On animal blood? Damon, that's suicidal!"

"No, it's safe." He murmured. "Go get dressed and I'll take you to the spot, but I'm begging you don't say anything to Amy about this."

_Quinn already knows_, she wanted to say, _she still loves you. Why are you so scared?_

"So Amy doesn't know that you're over two hundred years old?"

He sighed and leaned forward on the counter, the flannel shirt unbuttoned near the collar. "No, she has no idea. Neither does Quinn. I can't tell them. And I don't want to. They will never look at me the same way again and I couldn't handle that."

Caroline watched the agony cross his face as he imagined his words. She shook her head. Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe it was still January 15th and this whole thing was a very real, very visceral dream. To some degree, she wished it was.

"Okay, so I'm an old friend and you're human and I'm a doctor. That sounds like the perfect amount of lies to start out any relationship on." Caroline crossed her arms, frowning.

Damon stared at the counter top. His shoulders were tight, his eyes half-lidded, as if there was something deep inside bursting to get out. Then he ran a hand through his hair, sighing bitterly.

"Look, there are things you need to know. About how I met Amy and why I stayed here, about me. And some of it, I don't understand—,"

"Quinn thinks you're abusing Amy."

All remaining color in Damon's face drained in a millisecond.

"What?" He whispered.

"She showed up at my door step in Seattle, Washington in the middle of the night to save her mother." Caroline watched him with hard eyes. "Whatever you're trying to hide, you're not doing a good job of it. When she said I came to heal her mother, she wasn't lying. I've been busy too, Damon, training fledgling vampires to fight their instincts and not kill humans. But sometimes it doesn't work and I have to stake them. Don't think I won't add you to that list."

"That's the second time you've threatened me in a hour, Forbes." His voice was near a snarl.

"As they say, the third time's the charm." Her eyes were as sharp as daggers.

They stood, facing each other like animals in a cage, ready to strike with claws or their teeth—

And then the ice cream man's jiggle was heard through the house walls. The tension leaked out as the tune passed by.

_Wolves in sheep's clothes._

Damon was the first to break. He let out a harsh laugh, forced and tight, and took a massive swig of coffee. Then he turned and drank directly out from the pot.

"What are we doing, Caroline?" He muttered, adjusting the lid.

"Being monsters," she replied softly. "We haven't seen each other in over a hundred years and the first thing we do, besides literally beating the hell out of each other, is emotional scar each other by bringing up the past. I guess neither of us have changed—,"

"Don't say that." He muttered. "Because I've tried—,"

"Me too." Caroline stared at him, sadly. But by his face, her words cut him more deeply than she expected.

With a heavy sigh, he realized that this catharsis of the past was inevitable. "It's time you knew."

* * *

Quinn was right. Little had changed in Mystic Falls. The most of old buildings were still standing, the statues still there, no doubt a move by the City Council to conserve the richness of the old Mystic Falls. Of course, the cars now flew across floating traffic lights and drivers honked angrily at one another thirty feet in the air, but even then, Caroline had to bite her tongue to stop the rush of tears that suddenly caused her eyes to burn. As they walked through the town square, it was as if she had never left.

"Not getting sentimental now, are we?" Damon asked, not looking at her. They had gotten dressed and instead of taking the flying Chevy, he decided to leisurely take their time with a walk around town. He plucked a flower off one of the gates surrounded the old Victorian homes, rubbing the petals absentmindedly with his fingers.

"No. I just can't believe it's all still here. I'm in shock, not sentimental. There's a difference."

Children played in the street. A dog, an actual dog— not a genetic mutant Protectorate Companion— nipped at their heels, barking. They were throwing something back and forth, giggling.

"I guess humans aren't as mortal as we thought." Damon murmured behind her. He sounded oddly close but Caroline was too entranced to care. "Maybe we change more than they do."

A boy tossed the object— a football, an actual football— over to his friend. The boy caught it and the dog tried to grab it. He laughed and jerked it back. The dog growled and barked happily.

The other boy came over, scowling. "This is boring," he said. "Grandpa is a big fat liar. Let's YCube."

The boy frowned and really did pull the ball away from the dog, which suddenly sat down quietly. He nodded.

"YCube, play Battle Force Five."

The ball shivered and with a mechanic whirl, it shifted into two thin iBands. The boys grabbed them and strapped them to over their eyes. The dog, disturbingly still, twitched and its chest open to reveal two BioWands. The boys grabbed them and instantly entered the mystical and virtual world of Battle Force Five.

Suddenly, Damon blocked her view of the boys. He was holding a white rose for her.

"Or maybe they're exactly the same." His eyes were grinning. Not menacingly like the old Damon, but it was better than the Mr. Oxyclean.

"Isn't that Einstein's theory of relativity?" Caroline graciously accepted the rose. "Time appears to be traveling at a slower speed to those who are traveling at a higher speed?"

"You know that theory was disproven years ago, right?"

Caroline rolled her eyes and hastily put the rose in her hair. "Yes, but don't I get some credit for knowing Einstein's theory of anything?"

Damon chuckled and kept on going. "Yeah, I guess, you do."

They walked passed the old pizzeria, just as an Auto-man tossed a new roll into the air. Caroline played with a strand of hair.

"So, you said you were in Seattle, tell me about that." Damon asked as a new wave of cars passed overhead.

"I tried California for a while." She said. "And then I became horribly depressed when I realized I couldn't tan any more. That was a slap on the face that I really couldn't stand. So I left, again. I went to Europe. I saw some ruins, some old stuff, some new stuff, some artsy stuff. . . Oh, I met this super hot warlock. We shacked up for a few days in the Plovdiv Church in Bulgaria. That was fun."

Damon smirked, his hands resting in his pockets. Caroline was wrapped up too much in her memories to cringe at the fact that they were _blue_ jean pockets. He nodded for her to continue.

"Then I went East. Rode on the Tran-Siberian Rail Way. It was a lot less scary than that movie made it out to be. I looked for Whip-Lash in Moscow but I guess he was busy kicking Ironman's ass somewhere else." Caroline grinned.

They passed by two women jogging with visors on, probably BioMessaging to each other silently. Damon watched them go before looking at Caroline with some amusement.

"You do realize you're still stuck in the teens of this century? If you were with anyone else, those jokes wouldn't make any sense."

"I know my audience." She said airily. They kept walking.

"Ok, so no super-villains in Moscow. That's still not Seattle."

"Tokoyo was too crowded but the supernatural world there is really fun to party with. I probably partied there for the better half of the early twenty-forties. I got an electric tattoo with this giant flying fish named George. He paid for it."

"And what, pray tell, is this tattoo of and where?" Damon asked, highly amused.

"It's of a half moon. It lights up when I'm . . . excited." She smirked to herself, knowing he was watching her. "As for where, that's a secret."

"And why a moon?"

The grin faltered and completely fell from her face. "So I never forget that night."

Damon's smile was washed away too. They paused in front of the old City Hall. "I'm sorry, Caroline."

A hot wave of anger flushed through her but she managed to keep in down. "Thank you," she said.

They kept walking.

"But you're having sex with a giant fish and getting risky tattoos in Japan. This still isn't Seattle."

Caroline was silent for a minute before cutting her eyes at him. "I was not having sex with him. At least not physically. He's a psychic and he'd make himself look like Hugh Jackman when in he was in the mood."

Damon sniggered. "Someone's certainly been busy."

"Oh shut up. But, yes, Seattle. So George and I are out one night at this restaurant and this guy just shows up drunk out of his mind and the waitress won't serve him. And so he vamps out and rips her throat out. As the only supernatural beings in the building, George and I try to stop him. But he's super strong, obviously, since he just fed on a human. But he's just this blind rage and George senses that he's new. Like hours new and he's freaking out. So I manage to get him to the ground and eventually talked him down. He just didn't know what was happening to him. So George and I told him and he was just surprised. I told him he didn't have to be a killer and I think he really took it to heart. We gave him some animal blood after that. The weeks were hard but he never strayed, never faded. When I left he was still on animal blood. I think if you can get to them early enough, before they open up a bloodbath on the locals, then there's a real chance they can be saved. But I was done with the 'being foreign' scene. So I came back to the States. The sun seemed to mock me, so I went to the Rainey City to help baby vampires not live up to their full potential. And that's where I've been ever since."

Damon listened her with an intrigued face. When she was done, he broke into a faint smile.

"Caroline Forbes, Savior of the monsters and blood-suckers." He said quietly.

"That's Private Investigator to you. I thought it would be easier to get into crime scenes if I could flash a badge."

"You thought of everything, didn't you?"

"I've had a lot of time to think, Damon."

He paused, gazing at her, only guessing at how much she had changed. "Why do I feel like that's only half the story?"

"Because you're not as dumb as you look." Caroline smirked at him. She took the rose from her hair, twirling it in her fingers. "Maybe Amy is teaching you something after all." She added, something sharp in her throat.

"And I thank her every day for it."

Caroline suddenly took a step back, realizing she was far too close to him. Suddenly, she realized where they were.

"Whoa, no, no, this is not okay. Damon, you said the past was off-limits."

They stood out on the grounds of what used to be the Lockwood family mansion. No one had come to rebuild it, or even clear away the burnt rubble. It stood there, a black mount of ruins, of chairs and beds and dining tables, collapsed and a scar in memory, just as it was on that fateful night. She hadn't even realized where Damon had been leading her.

The thought of their bodies still trapped beneath the rubble made her stomach squirm. But no, she was the one who brought him out, who dragged Tyler's limp body away from the fire, praying that there was some spark of life— that there was still time to say all the things left unsaid— but there wasn't. She would never talk to him again.

"How dare you take me here," she snapped, unable to tear her eyes away from the monstrosity. "You know what this means to me."

"And you need to know what it means to me." He stood next to her, gazing at the moment their lives were changed forever. "And why the possibility of me hurting Amy is ridiculously absurd."

"Does it have to be here?" Caroline had to look away; the rising tears were coming far too close to the surface.

"No. We can go into the woods." Again, he led her away, only this time Caroline wondered if she should follow. But of course she did. The alternative was just too painful.

"So, why is the idea that you're happily munching down on an innocent woman so ridiculous?" Caroline snapped once they were far enough away. She turned her back to the mound of rubble just to keep herself from looking at it.

"Because they're the only things I have left, okay?" Damon's eyes made her momentarily forget about the obscene horror behind them. They were begging for her attention. Caroline shifted, and leaned against a tree, her bitterness shrinking. "You're not the only one who lost someone that night."

"I lost two people, Damon. Bonnie's body was never found." The bitterness and anger returned, in ten-fold. How dare he try and compare his stupid love triangle to loosing her best friend, her boyfriend all in one night?

"That night didn't happen like you thought it did."

Caroline narrowed her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Elena chose me."

The box containing that memory fluttered, dust spewing everywhere and bugs becoming unsettled.

"What?"

Now she could see the pain on his face, the frustration of something he could never change and the anger by which he recalled the passed.

"Elena chose me," he said, harsher. "She came to me that night and said my previous mistakes had been forgiven. That what I had done, it didn't matter. I was a changed man and she could see that. And then I told her I loved her and we—,"

"God, there is not enough booze in the world to make me want to hear the ending of that sentence." Caroline scowled. "I'm here to help, not vomit."

Damon's eyebrows twitched out of annoyance. "So we . . . consummated our love."

"Now I feel like a dirty Mormon."

"Caroline, are you listening?"

"Obviously."

"But because of what happened with Bonnie, because I chose to save Elena over the witch, she went for Stefan." He burst out, before she could stick in another snide comment. "And you have no idea how much that hurt."

_Hurt, past tense. That's interesting._

"That night I came home and realized that there wasn't enough time in the world to make her see differently. I had given everything to this girl and yet, it wasn't enough. So I decided to move on."

Caroline frowned, a disbelieving brow high in the air. "That's a surprisingly mature notion to arrive at on your own."

Damon paused, suddenly looking a little put out. "Yeah, well, maybe it wasn't that night I came to this startling conclusion. Maybe it was several months, one alcohol-induced coma and Alaric Saltzman not dicking around like his usual self later."

"You went into an alcohol-induced coma?"

"I had just lost the girl of my dreams. What did you expect? I'm nowhere near being that emotionally stable."

"True. Continue."

"So I took a page out of your book and left. I really did try to leave. I got out, out. You went to Moscow, I went to fucking Siberia, froze my ass off asking myself when I was going to stop being a dick all the time."

"Clearly that inward conversation lasted a long time."

Damon looked like he wanted to strangle her. "Do you feel the need to commentate on every little thing?"

"When you set yourself up like that, yes." Caroline smiled blankly at him, as if it were obvious.

Damon rolled his eyes. "So Siberia, cold, getting colder and what comes in the freakin' mail, but an invitation to her wedding to _MATT_! Can that bitch please at least pick if she wants a heartbeat or not?"

Caroline bit her tongue to keep a smile from breaking out over her face. This time she only shook her head.

"So I come back to the place that has seen some truly spectacular kickings of my ass, and she's there looking as beautiful as ever, but he's there with his stupid hair! And the only thing I can remotely offer her is a you look nice and oh by the way, I'm giving up human blood for you— and the dick has the nerve to give her _the same damn thing_. I didn't stay for the reception."

_At least you showed up. _

Damon leaned into a tree opposite her, kicking an offensive twig away. "Half a century later I still can't decide if seeing her that day was a mistake or not. I couldn't tell if she was happy to see me or scared or— she just seemed like a different person, distant, aloof. I thought it was because of what had happened that night, but she treated Stefan the same way. She said she was done with vampires. And I really couldn't blame her."

She was done with vampires. _Was I considered a vampire or a friend? _

"Stefan finally left, but I didn't. To be completely honest, I had nowhere else to go. I worked on rebuilding the Salvatore boarding house, after the last one ended up much like the Talking Heads song. But even after it was started, I couldn't live there. I mean, we only managed to salvage so much and honestly, the Salvatore house without its vast collection of Persian rugs just isn't the same."

"Obviously." Caroline couldn't resist. He smirked at her.

"Those things weren't exactly a dime a dozen."

"Since you loved them more your own mother."

"Oh, no, that past is going to stay deeply buried!"

"Fine, fine. So you were heartbroken over the loss of the love of your life, and you were skeezed by Elena's actions. What else?"

Damon raised an eyebrow at her before continuing.

"I went around, unhappy, drunk, and hungry. I'm not proud of the things I considered doing then, of what I wanted. But thanks to my steely resolve, I stayed away from the people that made me want to cause the most harm. And unfortunately, I had to ditch my old hangouts. That didn't leave a lot of hangouts in a three hangout sort of town like Mystic Falls. One morning I woke up on a park bench, a children's park. Someone was poking me with a stick."

Caroline grinned. "Let me guess, that someone was Quinn?"

Damon nearly grinned but clearly the memory was special because he no longer smiled, he beamed.

"I met Amy that day. She wanted to know why I was sleeping on a park bench. I told her I had just lost everything, my family, my friends, the girl I loved, which was true even though it was nearly a century later." He stared passed Caroline, into the bright blue sky. He looked happy. "Probably against her better judgment, she asked me to come home with her and have dinner with her and her daughter. She probably assumed I was homeless and when I took her back to the rebuilt boarding house, she was a little more than surprised."

"So you got a free ride home that night," Caroline said, a sharp edge to her voice. She swallowed to keep the flaming jealousy out of her tone. "Doesn't mean you suddenly got bored and decided to take a few bites out of her."

Damon frowned, his eyes slipping from the sky to Caroline's dark gaze. "You don't see it?"

"See what?" She snapped, the jealousy becoming unbearable.

"For the first time in nearly two hundred years, I was wanted. I was needed. I had been rejected over and over and now this perfect stranger missed me when I didn't come around." He met her eyes and she saw the desperation there. "Caroline, I had a clean slate." He said slowly. "_I was forgiven_."

His words hung in the air, causing a shiver to run up and down her spine. He watched her, his eyes daring her to counter.

"Well, congratulations." She finally said.

It was obvious he couldn't tell her sarcasm from her regular voice any more. He shrugged. "I should be congratulated."

There peaked that anger again— white hot and growing rapidly.

"Yeah, congratulations on moving on, Damon!" She snapped, her voice rising. "Congratulations that you can just forget the last one hundred years! That your guilt is sudden gone because Saint Gilbert bestowed her holy grail on you! I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact that she needed to compare sizes to make her final decision!"

Damon's face fell.

"Congratulations that the entirety of your existence depended on the answer of one pathetic little girl! That family literally meant nothing to you because you tried to seduce your brother's girlfriend! Congratulations, because the only forgiveness you needed, despite ALL the people's lives you destroyed, was Elena's and you finally got it!"

His face was blank.

"I don't have that luxury, Damon. I don't have the luxury of forgiveness. For the past one hundred years I've been trying to do things that would somehow lighten this sickening guilt, but I'm nowhere close to getting even the slightest amount of relief. Because the person that I need forgiveness from the most, is dead." She pointed across the clearing to the mound of ruble. "He died in that fire, along with my best friend. I don't have the luxury of ever hearing his voice again!"

Her eyes were dry. Her tongue was dry. Her chest was dry. Her anger could rip apart buildings, but the mind-numbing sorrow— that was buried to deep. Caroline turned and bolted from the forest.


	5. Chapter 5: Speaking in Tongues

**Chapter 5: Speaking in Tongues**

_Liar, Liar, pants on fire._

* * *

It was long before she realized that she didn't have the number to get back into his house and there was no way she was going to have any social interaction with Amy unless it was absolutely mandatory. So she settled with floating aimlessly around town.

She stayed specifically downtown. Going into the suburbs, down into the old neighborhoods where she played, where she loved and lived until she was seventeen years old— that was just asking too much for one day. She didn't realize returning to Mystic Falls would carry this much responsibility or she never would have agreed to come back.

So like the old and bitter soul she had become, Caroline found her way to the Grill. A neo-sign blinked above her, reminding her of where she was. They had installed holo-visions in place of the old televisions. Electric pool tables replaced the old and they had redone the floor. But the bar still stood, lining the wall and a welcome to all weary travelers. The beer still came from a tap and right now, that's all Caroline cared about.

She tried to keep her mind from the times when Matt took her orders instead of this Bohemian cyborg with a whirling eye. But the eye was definitely creepy, so much so she didn't hear footsteps come up behind her.

"We weren't finished yet." He said. He didn't take the seat next to her.

"Actually, my storming off signaled that we were completely done and I have nothing more to say to you." She took a hard shot of whiskey the cyborg had just given her. She took another one eagerly. "In fact, I'm done with this town. Get your kid into counseling. She thinks you're a freak and I'm done caring. Not nice to see you and I hope we don't meet again."

She took a third one, just to give her a proper buzz and she turned around. He was standing right behind her, his eyes dark. Not yet menacing but furious nonetheless.

"I'm not the one hurting Amy," Damon said darkly. "But someone is. I'm sure Quinn's told you about the late nights and Amy coming back with bruises. Well, I'm not doing that and I'm dying to find out who is."

"Well, have fun, Captain Sherlock," she muttered. The buzz was a little stronger than she expected. "I will be on the next bus to Splitz-ville. Don't call if you need me."

She tried to slide around him but he blocked her. She moved to the other side and again his brilliant eyes were keeping her from leaving.

"Damon, I am not afraid to punch you right in the balls—,"

"The Caroline I knew isn't gone." She looked up into his face and found his expression softer than she remembered. "She's just buried beneath years of abuse and anger. And I know she would never do this to a kid."

Caroline snorted. "That Caroline died in that fire. You're wasting your breath." She jerked around him.

"I don't breathe, Caroline—," he grabbed her elbow, pulling her around.

"And I don't care!" She yelled, ripping her arm out from his grasp. The few patrons there in the bar raised their sleepy heads, eager to see a fight. "I don't care about Quinn, or Amy! I don't care that this town is burning! I don't care about anything, Damon! I don't care about you or your stupid family or that you got forgiveness! I'm done being the go-to girl when everyone is hurt or sad or angry! I care about me! Me! Good bye, Damon, good luck with your hero act. It isn't fooling me."

She threw one more heated glare around the room, to the patrons, to the signs, to Damon, who was suddenly still. She sighed, the cyborg's eye making her stomach twist, and stumbled off.

"Do you want money?"

Caroline froze. She whirled around. His mouth was in a hard line, his eyes burning. He had reached his last resort. He had all but gotten down on his knees and begged her to stay. But this was Damon Salvatore, somewhere buried beneath the smell of eau de Suburbia, and he had his pride, no matter how hard the flannel fleece tried to remove it.

"Excuse me?"

"Money is the universal language." He said, stepping forward, realizing he had her attention. "This . . . thing you've become must have some social skills. Even monsters understand greed."

She ignored the comment and narrowed her eyes. He came closer. "How much are we talking about?"

"Four hundred every month you're here."

She scoffed. "Don't insult me. I could strip for better than that."

"Five hundred."

"Nine hundred."

"Six hundred."

"Eight hundred."

"Six seventy five."

"Seven fifty, and that's my final offer."

Damon clenched his jaw. "Fine. Seven fifty." He extended his hand, very business-like. "You obviously have learned to haggle."

She took his hand and shook it. Her eyes glittered dangerously. "I also learned to strip but we can save that for another time."

Damon withdrew his hand, his fingers slipping through hers like water. His face went blank again.

"Now," Caroline began, "what is so damned important that you needed help from little ol' me?"

He turned and strode out the doors. "It's in the forest."

Caroline sighed, rolling her eyes. She followed after him. "Isn't it always?"

* * *

"There."

They came to the top of a cliff over looking an older graveyard. It was a fair distance from downtown, off the beaten path and overgrown with weeds and brush. Clearly, those who were buried here were joined by those who mourned them, and nobody came for them. There were various mausoleums and headstones but the most prominent fixture was the large entrance to a cave across from the graveyard. It looked like it had been sculpted into the rock by a giant hand. The mouth was covered in moss and someone had graffiti-ed the side of it, but despite looking like a gaping sore in the landscape, there was nothing particularly remarkable about it.

"I've always wanted to go spelunking." Caroline said, shrugging. "That's what they call it, right? Cave-digging? Ooh, that sounds dirty . . ."

"You can try." Damon said monotone. "I suggest running head-long at it."

Caroline narrowed her eyes at him. "Somehow, I don't believe you have my best intentions at heart."

"How oddly intuitive of you." He smiled horribly at her.

"So what's so damn special about this cave?"

"Every time Amy leaves, I follow her, here. And she's not the only one. Half the town shows up here, looking as dead panned as a kid watching Saturday morning cartoons, and they all file in through there. And they come back out about two hours later, bites and bruises on them, without a single memory of what's happened. The cave is special because I can't get in it, like an invitation spell. Someone definitely doesn't want vampires getting in."

Caroline knelt down and touched the ground, trying to synchronize with the swaying of the Earth. _Everything has a brainwave_, George had said, _you just have to find it_. "You said there were bruises and bite marks on the people. Could a vampire be doing this?"

"Not unless they've got some serious mojo under their belt." Damon said as he glared hatefully at the cave. "And I distinctly remember that witch and vampire blood doesn't mix well."

Caroline focused on the grass and not on the swell of memories of her best friend. When she stood up, she realized Damon had been watching her, gauging her reaction. She ignored the jab.

"What does she think when she sees the bruises? She doesn't get freaked out that she's covered in mud and bite marks?"

"Like I said, totally dazed. She's like that until the next morning. And, un-surprisingly, the majority of the marks are gone, like she was healed."

Caroline frowned. "You think they're being given vampire blood before they leave the cave?"

Damon lost her gaze. "I hope to God she's not."

"But have you ever tried snapping her neck to see if she'd come back?" Caroline asked acidly. Damon's eyes nearly went black. She just stared. "And how often does this happen?"

"About every other week now. Actually, if this thing fits a pattern, the next one should happen Thursday."

Caroline physically restrained herself to keep her eyes from rolling. _It's always a Thursday._

"Great. So Thursday it is. Until then, I'll start checking around for anything ookie." Caroline turned to Damon, her hand outstretched. "That was my supernatural expertise on the matter. Now, pay me."

Damon's eyes narrowed at her. "I don't exactly keep seven hundred and fifty bucks in my pocket. Don't want to get mugged. We'll go to the bank."

He turned and began walking back to town. Caroline sighed bitterly and followed. "At least stripping has instant gratification."

* * *

Caroline leaned against the local doctor's office, happily counting each crisp dollar in her hand. If Carlson could see that wad of cash now . . .

Damon joined her a second later, fervently gazing around the streets as if to see if anyone had been watching.

"How can you be so grouchy around this much money?" She waved it in his face.

He scowled and pushed her with his shoulder to get her moving. She scowled back at him and they started walking.

"Because I just Compelled the nurse in there to acknowledge that a Dr. Caroline Forbes would be using their facility from time to time for a scientific experiment, as assigned by the Seattle Research Institute of Technology." Damon scowled. "She also won't find it strange if a few liters of blood goes missing every once in a while."

"Holy shit, does that place even exist?"

"It does for one Maryann Rhodes."

Caroline cackled, rifling through her cash again. "Oh, the joys of Compulsion. You must remember how well we worked under Compulsion."

She nearly bowled him over as he slid in front of her. "What the hell—,"

His eyes were crackling with anger, his mouth tight. "That life is passed me now. I don't do that any more, Caroline, _get that through your head_," he spat.

Caroline smiled like a devil. She stepped forward until their noses were nearly touching and she had to look up to meet his eyes.

"You might believe that," she whispered. "But I know that you're just as miserable as I am. And it's only going to take one single _push_ to bring back the Damon that I know. Personally, I can't wait for that day to come."

With that, she slid passed him, fully aware of the flash of fear in his eyes.

* * *

They had walked back to the house in silence, Damon's brooding shoulders leading the way. Unfortunately, as the silence loomed, Carlson's nagging voice filled her ears.

_He's been nothing but nice to you since you got here. There was that incident in the kitchen, but then he apologized, so that's got to count for something. _

Caroline watched the tight back, trying not to imagine the compact muscle under the jean jacket. She sighed. Maybe she had been a little bit of a bitch.

_A little? A __**little**__ bit of a bitch? He's just trying to protect his family! Would you just chill out and please remove the massive stick from your—_

"Okay!"

"What?" Damon didn't look at her as he fiddled to find the keypad scanner in his pocket.

"I'll leave. I'll find an apartment and move out tonight." Caroline said, just with a hint of guilt in her voice. He paused. "The money should be enough for a rent somewhere. Thank you for that, by the way."

He kept still, as if considering looking at her or not. Finally, he nodded. "That's probably for the best."

"What else do you want me to tell her?" Caroline interjected, causing his scanner to freeze inches above the pad. "I'm here on assignment from the Seattle Research Institute of Technology and I thought I'd drop by to see my old friend Damon Salvatore. I wanted to surprise him but obviously, he thought I was a burglar. What should we do about Quinn?"

Damon closed his eyes, obviously forgetting that situation. With a heavy sigh, he slumped against the door.

"Shit."

Caroline grimaced for him. She bit her lip, a hot coil of guilt building up in her throat, uncomfortable with what she was about to suggest.

"Damon, just hear me out, but do you want me to Compel them?" He didn't move. "Quinn wouldn't remember what I am, what you are. I would just be a visiting friend and you would get to be Super Dad again." She smiled weakly.

Finally, regret etched into each line on his face, he nodded.

"Do it. Make her forgot that she thinks I'm a vampire, that she found my notebook, that she came and got you. Erase it all. Make Amy think you're a friend from college, visiting for a local assignment. Lie to them."

* * *

Damon had set her up with all the papers he collected on the strange occurrences that had been happening around town— people missing, crops failing, bizarre lightening storms, the usual. He had tracked it back to about six months ago, when the events became more frequent and in rapid session. Before then, they were too far apart to be considered part of a pattern.

"Animal deaths are also a common theme within the disappearance of some townie," Damon said as he tossed her another stack of weather maps from his desk drawer in the private office of the back of the house. Though Quinn didn't give him much credit, he kept these papers under lock and key. And for good reason: the animal slaughter got pretty graphic. Caroline wrinkled her nose. "Oh, you'll love this, within the last year and a half, locals have reported _crop circles_ popping up everywhere."

He raised a picture of a local farmer with his pitchfork raised in what the photographer had probably hoped to be a symbol of rebellion against alien invaders. In reality, the picture showed an eager pig-man lunging at the camera. In the background, there was a shoddy image of three triangles etched into a field of grass.

"You're not serious? Crop circles?" Caroline asked. Her mouth dropped as she took the article. "We are so not doing the Mulder and Scully thing."

Damon scowled and handed her one more file. "Like I'd trust you with pleasantly interacting with an alien species."

Caroline's eyes narrowed. "You trust me enough to propagate the lie that you have a 'family' and that you care about them."

"Congratulations, you've officially passed from being a semi-decent person into talking about shit you know nothing about in three seconds. New record."

"I know everything about family—,"

Damon slammed the folder in his hands on the desk, leaning towards her, his eyes glinting. "Is that why the only hour you spent with your mother in thirty years was on her deathbed? Is that why you weren't there with your best friend on the happiest day of her life? Is that why the one thing you've been consistently good at for hundred years is abandonment? Don't you dare take the high road with me, Forbes. We've all got blood on ours hands. Unlike you, I've realized I can't stand to look at it anymore."

She stared, her palms unreasonably sweaty. His point made, he shoved the rest of the folders towards her and straightened up.

"I restarted my father's old lumber mill," Damon said without preamble. "I'll be at the office until late. Call if you need something."

He strode out of the room. Caroline strained to listen until, when the garage door slid shut against the plastic ground, she leaned against the desk, her knees shaking.

_Liar, Liar, pants on fire._

* * *

Never would she admit this out loud, or ever to his face, or ever in a million years, but Damon was actually a pretty good super-sleuth. He had found weather patterns that stood out and tracked them with an inane accuracy. There seemed to be a swell in weirdness around the full moons, and not just the regular weirdoes howling at the moon.

And unfortunately, she had no idea what specific kind of weirdness this was. Despite the disappearances, no bodies ever turned up mutilated, or bled dry. There were no bodies, period. So it didn't seem to be a vampire or werewolf behind this. She had known certain types of demons to be followed by weather disturbances, but the storms lacked the extra flair that accompanied demon sightings: no electric blackouts, no rash of murders, no bizarre lights in the sky. So it wasn't that.

It seemed that these people simply up and left. And then a little while later, some animals turned up dead. And then a little while later, crop circles appeared on a farm.

Caroline sighed, crossing her arms. She had taped the articles on the inside of an armoire, allowing for a glimpse at the bigger picture. But she couldn't really find it. The longer she stared, the faster her doubt grew. If you're paranoid enough, anything can look like a pattern. She had yet to see these bruises, the whole town acting like mindless zombies, anything that would make Damon's story not a heaping pack of lies.

_No, no, there's definitely a connection between these disappearances, and Amy Gable's injuries._

Or he made it all up so you wouldn't stake him the second you saw him in the living room.

_But his story matched with Quinn's. Something's definitely going on with Amy Gables._

Yeah and that something could be Damon Salvatore using her as his personal blood bank.

_He's using people like that for years. Why would he shack up with a single mother and her little girl?_

Because he's a twisted bastard that enjoys inflicting pain.

Caroline took a deep breath, forcing her train of thought to come to a screeching halt. She fell backwards onto her bed, staring aimlessly at the ceiling.

_This is not how you make friends, Forbes. Accusing them of—_

Of what! It's not like maiming innocent women had suddenly become a new hobby of his. He's a vampire, this is what he does!

_SHUT UP._

Groaning, Caroline snatched up a pillow and slammed it over her head, desperately trying to make the voices in her head go away. She did hear the front door open and shut, however, and her heart dropped into her stomach.

"Damon!" Amy called as she put the groceries on the kitchen counter. "Hey, I'm home."

Damon said he wouldn't be back until 7:30. The clock on her bedside table said it was only 6:15.

_Crap, crap, loads of crap! Me no want to talkie!_

"Damon!" Amy called again. She placed the keys on the counter and left the house again, no doubt to gather the rest of the groceries from the car.

_Ok, ok, what would Caroline do? _

Well, first, she should probably close the armoire and hide the graphic content that this lady's boyfriend keeps under his desk. And then she should go say hi.

Caroline bit her lip as she closed the door.

_But what do you say? Hi, everything I'm about to tell you is a big fat lie that your boyfriend and I concocted to hide the fact that we're both vampires and there's something out there that's trying to eat you. How's your day been? _

Oh, forget whatever _Caroline _would do. It's Private Investigator Forbes now. Go interview your damn client!

_Right, right, money. Job, the thing that pays the bills._

What, you think we came here just for old time's sake?

Caroline made sure the armoire was completely shut before slowly going down the stairs to officially meet Amy Gables. She was unwrapping their groceries from their bio-degradable packets before slipping them into the refrigerator.

"Hi, Amy!" Caroline waved from the hallway. The redhead smiled and put a strand of hair around her ear, her hand covering her eyes.

"Hello, Doctor Forbes. Did Damon set you up with everything you need at the clinic?"

Caroline nodded, internally annoyed with herself that she didn't pick up at least something medical, just something to make their lie more believable. "I called ahead of time and they had all my badges and packets there ready for me. But Damon was helpful in finding the building. I'm good with body parts, not directions."

She let out an easy laugh as she slid into a bar stool at the counter. Amy smiled again— this one only slightly less hostile than the first— and turned back to the refrigerator. Caroline swallowed. _Come on, small talk shouldn't be this hard! You were Prom Queen!_

"So, where's Quinn?"

The mother didn't look up from her duties. She took out a stalk of celery and set the Splicer to one inch. She easily took her time with the chopping, but landing the blades against the wood with a stern, solid _thud_ every single time.

"She went to speech and debate after school. She's at a friend's house now, finishing up a project about internet safety."

"She's very bright." Caroline said, not entirely convinced of the actuality of Amy's words. Quinn was very likely doing something on the internet, but probably not at a friend's house, and certainly not an academic project.

But the mother scoffed. "Yeah, bright enough to convince her stupid mother to let her go out after vanishing into the night for two days and bringing back a complete stranger—," she grimaced, her anger getting the better of her. "I'm sorry, you're not a stranger, you're here to help, but I just— I thought I lost my little girl."

She put down the knife, a breath racking through her thin shoulders. Caroline frowned, feeling true sympathy for this young woman.

"Do you want some help?"

Amy looked up through spiraling hair. "What?"

Caroline smiled softly and pointed to the food. "With dinner. As a surgeon, I'm great with my hands."

Amy sighed and nodded her head. "Yes, please. Start with some onions. They're getting soup tonight. I don't feel like cooking much else."

Caroline's stomach threatened to gurgle but she kept it down as she grabbed another Slicer and began chopping.

"So Quinn, tell me about her."

Amy let out a soft laugh. "You're right, she is bright. Scary bright, sometimes. She can be very sweet, but other times this entirely different person. I think she knows she's smarter than me, and sometimes, I wonder if she's just bored. That's why Damon works so well with her. He just knows stuff, like weird stuff, from like forty years ago, facts that are just incredibly detailed— and I think he really puts her in her place sometimes, which, I'm not going to lie, I enjoy."

Caroline smiled reassuringly, her mind whirling. _You have no idea_.

"I wasn't so much worried about what she was doing, as the fact that she didn't tell me she had gone." Amy said, almost guiltily. "I knew she could be in danger, but something inside of me said that she wasn't. I just wish she would have asked me."

"Would you have let her go?"

Amy paused in loading a pot up with water. "No, but Damon probably would have accompanied her."

"And Damon, how did you two meet?"

Amy visibly relaxed, smiling honestly for the first time since Caroline had entered the kitchen.

"Now that is a story, probably too long for a pre-dinner conversation. But I'll give you this. He makes me happy. Weirdly happy. Happy than I thought was possible after the fiasco with Quinn's father. Which again, not a pre-dinner topic."

Caroline laughed politely, just as Amy started up a packet of broth over the TransHeater. In seconds the room was filled with a deep, earthy aroma. She slid in a box of rice, stirring slightly until the brittle pods were ply and soft. At that moment, Damon walked in through the front door, Quinn happily sitting on his shoulders. She held some electronic game in her hands that rested on top of Damon's messy hair.

"Knight to E5." Quinn said eagerly, her eyes lit up from more than just the screen's reflection.

"Pawn to A8." Damon said, in almost a singsong voice. Quinn bit her lip, her brow furrowed. She swayed slightly as he shut the door.

"Rook to C12."

"Queen to E3. Checkmate."

Quinn's eyes grew wide as the noise of a sword slashing against stone came from the little electronic device.

"Winner Player 2." The game announced.

"How did you do that?" Quinn yelped as Damon lowered her to the ground. "I had two more moves and that king would have been mine!"

He bent over and tapped her nose.

"But I had only one, and there in lies your problem, I'm just a better chess player."

Quinn's eyes narrowed playfully. "You cheated. I'm determined to figure out how."

"Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" He stood up, beaming. Caroline turned, her insides churning. "Nice to see you two playing along." He went over and kissed Amy on the cheek. He glanced momentarily at Caroline as if to say, _You have been playing along, right?_

"Your mom here was just telling me about your work at school, Quinn." Caroline asked sweetly, ignoring Damon's hovering glare. "How was speech and debate?"

"Desmond Point has no chance." Quinn said with glee as she began to set the table. "We're going to wipe the floor with their asses."

"Quinn!" Amy froze, scolding her daughter with her eyes. Quinn's blush crept in from her ears.

"Sorry— butts, we're going to kick their butts."

Amy shook her head and slid the chopped vegetables into the pot. Damon smirked and looked infinitely proud.

Amy stirred the pot once more before nodding, deciding it was edible. "Soup's on."

The other sat into their seats as Amy poured a bit of dinner into their bowls. Caroline stared at the carrots and celery as the bobbed around the steaming dish. She looked up and caught Damon staring her down from the opposite end of the table. _Eat it and like it, _his eyes said. The knuckles around his spoon were white.

Caroline put hand over her stomach to stifle the gurgle that came from a place more than just hunger and with an overly wide smile, she scooped a spoonful into her mouth.

"Excellent dinner, Amy."

It was almost tasteless.

The dinner had past pleasantly enough. No incidents to speak of, except that moment when Amy asked what kind of work Caroline was going to be doing here in Mystic Falls. Damon went rigid, his electric eyes flitting across the table in fraction of a second. Caroline only smiled and put down her spoon.

"I'm mainly an internist— I work specifically with adult patients— basically what you or Damon would see if you were sick." His knuckles went white again. "Which reminds me, as Quinn put it last night, I would like very much to take a look at you after dinner."

Amy shrugged. "I have been feeling tired lately, drained, you know? I just figured it was allergies." She looked at Damon for reassurance and he returned with a tight smile. Caroline was the only one who noticed Quinn's suddenly watery eyes.

"Actually, if we're done here, I would like to examine you now." Caroline said, dropping her eye contact with Damon. "Would that be alright?"

Amy's frown filtered through to a crooked smile. "Yeah, uh, sure. Would you two mind if you did the dishes tonight?"

Damon moved in such a way that a statue might break free from stone. "Yeah, Quinn—,"

The little girl sniffed and nodded, keeping her hair in front of her face. Damon's eyes widened in alarm; he recognized the scent of tears. He reached for her hand.

"Quinn—,"

She pulled away from his touch. Damon blanched.

"Come on, let's go and leave Dad to clean up." Caroline stood and took Amy and Quinn by the hand and led them into the living room.

When Caroline sat them down, Quinn's eyes were cleared but her face was red. Amy reached out to her.

"Are you feeling alright?" She wrapped an arm around her daughter.

"Just allergies, Mom." Quinn muttered, leaning into her mother's embrace.

Caroline swallowed. Over their shoulders, Caroline saw Damon watching from the kitchen, his eyes hollow. Caroline cleared her throat.

"Amy, would you please look here?" She held out her finger and the brown eyes followed. After two repetitions, a second pair of little eyes caught her finger. Caroline brought the finger in between her eyes. They were locked into her gaze.

"Amy, Quinn, what I'm about to do to you is for your own protection, okay? I'm doing this to help you, to keep you safe. There are things that you know that can be dangerous if you remember. So that's what I'm taking. I'm taking your memory. Quinn, you do not remember that Damon is a vampire. You don't remember that you stole from his address book or you don't remember leaving to come find me. You believe your mother has allergies. I'm here visiting Damon because we were friends in high school. There is a medical conference here in Mystic Falls and I'm here for two weeks. You find nothing strange about our friendship, my medical license, or the conference. I am here until tomorrow morning when my hotel room is ready. You find nothing strange about that either. Damon is your keeper and your guardian. You feel safe with him. Got it?"

The two Compelled women blinked then nodded, their eyes still glazed over.

"You didn't have to say that." He stood right beside her, his face hidden in shadow.

Caroline swallowed. "I know I didn't. They already know it."

Damon was silent.

"Now tell them you forgot something at the office, so you're going to be out late— you need to feed."

He knelt down beside Amy, touching her face.

"You're coming with me, right?" Caroline asked.

Slowly, he shook his head and put Amy's wrist against his cheek. "I'm strong enough, I don't need it."

"Bullshit."

He tensed, as if the word cut him. "Caroline, don't do this. Don't act like you understand—,"

"I don't understand." She snapped. "What if you loose control around her? Why are you torturing yourself like this? Animals are okay. You need blood, Damon, you need blood—,"

"Or what?" He spun, his eyes glowing in the darkness. "I'll die?"

Caroline narrowed her eyes at him. _How dare he dispute the high ground with her . . ._

"Fine, it's your body bag." She grabbed Amy's hand from Damon and took Quinn's in her other. "I'll be gone until morning. Don't worry. I'll be back. I just need to work late. And Amy, your allergies seem just find to me. So Quinn, go to bed and fall immediately to sleep. And Amy, take your boyfriend to bed and fuck him like you mean it."

Damon snarled.

Quinn blinked, her gaze dizzy. "I'm going to bed." The little figure had barely crossed into her room before Amy threw herself onto Damon, pressing him into the couch.

"Take me to bed, Damon," she moaned in his ear. Caroline caught his horror-stricken face through waves of scarlet hair. He tried to pull her away, but she clawed at him, hungry for his flesh.

"Caroline, make her stop—,"

She watched the two struggle from the coffee table, a terrible smile on her face.

"I thought this what you wanted. Someone who wants you unconditionally, someone who wants you despite what you've done. Someone who _forgave_ you." Her voiced wavered on that particular word.

"Damon, I'm burning—,"

"Caroline, please! I'm begging you— not like this—,"

Caroline smirked. "You don't know what you want. Control someone— mold them into accepting you— or let them be free, and give them their own choice." She stood up and roughly grabbed Amy by her hair. Caroline bent down and whispered into her ear: "Stop it." Amy froze. "You will forget this little incident ever happened. Quinn went to bed and I went to work. You have Damon to yourself. Do what ever you want with him."

Amy crumpled into the couch and Damon slipped out from under her, immediately checking her pulse, searching in her eyes.

"Amy? Can you hear me?"

Caroline bolted from the room and out the front door, the hunter forcibly taking over. She didn't think about Damon, about Amy or Quinn, or Mystic Falls until three hours later, when a mountain lion's blood ran hot down her throat.

When she opened the front door, just thirty minutes before dawn, and she entered the house, the air smelled of fresh sex.

* * *

_*A/N: Hi guys! There are not enough sorry's in the world to describe how I'm feeling about the delay of this chapter. But look, I went to Walmart to get a whiteboard to get all the junk that it's my head and plan it out because I have SUCH a place to go with this fic, I guarentee your minds will be blown. Also it's going to be about 30 chapters, opposite to my previous 20. So, PLEASE, bear with me. I promise, promise, promise (!) it will be worth it! Much love for reviews and follows!_


	6. Chapter 6: Murder, She Wrote

**Chapter 6: Murder, She Wrote**

"May I get that plate for you?"

Caroline looked up from her stack of notes, her eyes breaking their rapid dance between the spiral pages and her research book entitled, _The Occult and You_. The waitress's smile faltered slightly as she caught sight of the gory sacrifice diagram at the bottom of the page. Caroline quickly hid the picture from view and smiled forcefully back into the concerned eyes.

"Yes, please. Thank you, the chocolate pancakes were wonderful, but I really could do with another cup of coffee." The waitress nodded, still trying to glimpse at the page. Caroline felt a surge of annoyance. She leaned forward and put a hand over the badly manicured nails. She looked the waitress dead in the eye. "And there's nothing weird about my books, okay? I don't want any trouble, got it?"

Her green eyes blinked and the waitress nodded, the swirled red hair tilting precariously as her head moved. Caroline rolled her eyes as the sea-foam green potato waddled off into the kitchen. The half-eaten (and disappointingly bland) pancakes eyed her wistfully. She pushed them aside with a grudging shove of her fork. _Carlson's probably spinning in his coffin_ . . .

It had been a few days since the night she Compelled the Gables girls. She had returned later that night to grab her bag, to be quietly disposed of without interruption. Though she knew he slept fitfully in the room across the house, Caroline couldn't shake the feeling Damon watched her from every dark shadow. _Why?_ She thought, _that's ridiculous . . . I have nothing to feel guilty about._ She swallowed that bit of hot shame with a draft of fox blood before checking into a hotel. What was she, if not a woman of her word?

Caroline propped her book back up onto the counter, trying to find her place aligned with her notes.

**Hydra**

_Happens every 30-40 years_

_Eats its victims_

_Burrows underground Underwater_

_Takes in mostly crowds_

**Werewolf**

Leaves marks

_Kills lots of people_

_More bodies_

Animal attack w/ survivor

**Dark Fae**

Requires blood sacrifice

Hidden underground

People usually under spell

_Only comes out every 100 years for victim_

_None in area for at least 400_

**Occult/Warlock**

pleases gods with small sacrifices

Does NOT need to kill victims

Uses spell for control/memory loss

Occasional marking

Recent sighting . . . ?

Her book read:

"_Occulists often use the blood of animals to propagate and strengthen their spells, in order to further appease the gods or to momentary call forth demons for a small bidding._"

Caroline smiled grimly, marking a star next to _blood of animals_. This would explain the animal slaughters and recent demon activity. She continued reading.

"_Occultists often lay waste to the natural area around them, when their power grows stronger. This means they can summon more powerful demons and control a wider-spread servitude (remember servitude here has the meaning of mass population of controlled human victims)."_

Lay waste? The page went on about the possibilities of powerful occultists (none of which Caroline liked), but it never continued a description of what it meant by "lay waste". Scowling, she wondered if this was a literal or metaphorical destruction.

The BioNet in her bag buzzed, breaking her concentration. Caroline sighed, the words on her notepad and on the book swirling in her head, and reached over to check the message.

It was from Damon, first contact in days_. __**Any leads yet?**_

She was several miles from the house, behind a forest or two, but still she could feel the venom in his words.

Caroline dropped the pen, scowling bitterly for no other reason that the fury he incited. Her hands went through vamp-speed as she pecked out her reply.

_**I've found something but my resources are limited. I'm going to the library later to look for something else. **_

The line was quiet for a minute. The redheaded waitress returned and dropped off the cup of coffee, when his message came back.

_**Wat do u think it is?**_

_**Occultists**__._ She replied almost instantly.

_**And ur planning on finding an in-depth book on occultists . . . in the library?**_

_**This is Mystic Falls after all.**_

A sudden image of something old— something hot with a brush of leather and blue eyes— flashed in her mind as she read his last message: _**Touché.**_

Suddenly, Caroline was reminded of the three-month sexting affair with a Brazilian shaman. She shook off the memory, rather unsure of how it got there in the first place as she put down the BioNet and closed her notes, slipping books back into her bag. She took a final sip of her coffee, threw some cash onto the table and left the diner situated on the outskirts of Mystic Falls.

The clock now nearing eleven, Caroline walked out to her car— her car she rented in a haze somewhere in the bright hours of the morning from a shaking ginger clerk who evidently saw the blood stain on the sleeves of her shirt. She Compelled him to realize he only watched too many horror movies, took the car and left.

Now, she pounded the gas, the car roaring, and with clenched teeth, she drove back towards Mystic Falls, despite the long stretched of road in the opposite direction. She could turn back. Seattle was still there. What did she really owe this people?

Carlson said, _you owe it to yourself_.

For all her self-progress, for all her independence, for all the years of sculpting her body into a weapon, when Caroline pulled up to the Mystic Falls Public Library, she reverted—if only for a moment. She turned off the car and sat for a moment staring up at the chrome building. Despite her often over-looked intelligence, the first thought that crossed her mind was:

_I hate libraries_.

She had spent most of her (pre-eternal) youth avidly avoiding them because of her association with libraries and old people. Her grandmother's house smelled like a library and every dimly lit hallway reminded her of those endless stacks. It reminded her of wheezing and coughing and soiled doilies and a general air of grossness. Now, one hundred years later, Caroline classified those feelings as irrational phobias, her line of working forcing her to either overcome the disgust for the smell of old paper or spend hours searching for the cleanest library in town. But in a one Starbucks town like Mystic Falls, she often found it was better to buckle down and move forward (how many other situations could _she_ apply that logic too?).

Caroline headed towards the mechanically threatening building, her arms filled with her own books and her bag, with some trepidation. Number one lesson learned the hard way on the job: _trust your gut instincts_. Only this time, her gut had a floor plan for how bad this was and she chose to ignore it.

The glass doors shut ominously behind her, the Krypt-Keeper of a librarian hobbling back off to her desk at the mouth of the river Styx. Caroline watched her go, nearly hesitant to turn around into the grey stacks. As Quinn had mentioned, Mystic Falls had been slow to "modernize" and obviously this included the old records. Most books could be found through a digital catalog, the librarian/bag lady informed Caroline as they slid up the electric stairways. But the Council refused to let records to be digitized for fear of loss of quality and geniality, values which Mystic Falls always upheld, no matter the age. The librarian also claimed proudly that the records kept in this vaults went all the way back to the Founding Families. Caroline vaguely wondered if _she_ had been present at the signings.

But after giving her the scanner to each platinum drawer behind the glass doors, the librarian left Caroline to her work.

An hour and a half later found Caroline's notes scattered across one of the many work tables in the vault, five or six drawers left open at various indentations and the smell of cotton mothballs hung in the air. Hunched over a newspaper clipping of a weather pattern, two journals of sibling witch hunters in 1901, she found on the lower decks of the library, and _The Basic Encyclopedia on the Occult_, Caroline sighed. And coughed. Wisps of sweaty hair curled around the nape of her neck. Bits of dust floated in the light beams, making her hands feel dry and the air in her lungs tight. Everything had a grey, flaccid tinge to it.

Her BioNet buzzed. _**how much more time is this gonna take?**_

She struggled with being professional, and giving a Caroline response._** Occultists are looking better and better. You got any ideas on who the local Satan-worshippers might be?**_

_**Hurry. U kno what day it is right?**_

She had been thinking about it, the thought grinding a paper-cut mark in the corners of her brain.

_**It's Thursday, right? When unmentionable substances are meant to hit the fan?**_

The line was quiet. Caroline rolled her eyes and began flitting through her notes again. She had just found the spot where the pen had left off— when her pocket hummed again.

_**Get home soon. It's almost sunset and Amy fading.**_

Caroline's heart tightened unconsciously and she typed back a response:

_**Be there soon. **_

Caroline rapped solidly on the wooden door. A moment later, Damon opened the door. Grey circles hugged the bottom of his eyes, as though he hadn't slept in days. His mouth was pulled into a firm line as though he disapproved of who stood on his porch. His sharp eyes leapt over her shoulder, seemingly expecting someone to be hiding behind her. A flare of indignant anger flexed through Caroline; she pushed roughly passed him before he could scrutinize her further.

"Where is she?"

"She's asleep in the bedroom." His voice was clouded. The red sunlight that bled through the open door onto the white floor was suddenly drained as Damon shut the door behind her. "I told Quinn to go to bed and be quiet, for her mother's sake."

"So what do we do?" Caroline glanced up the pack of stairs, to the barely ajar door at the top. She heard the catch of a small breath, as though Quinn was holding her breath to hear downstairs better. Caroline frowned. _Persistent little snot, aren't you? You should be asleep— and not be worried about what we're doing. _

"She usually leaves just after sunset." Damon was standing in the living room, running a hand through his dark hair. He stared at the bedroom door across from him. "I usually just wait down here until she's gone."

Caroline hissed his name so only superhuman ears could hear. He frowned and she pointed to the door. _She's awake_. A look of panic crossed his face. _I thought you took care of that._ Caroline scowled. _Compelling your child won't take away her curiosity, unless you want me to._

Damon threw her a dark glare— more brooding and disapproving than the Damon she knew— and went up the stairs. Caroline listened to him open the door, coax his daughter into bed, try and convince her that everything was okay— she wasn't buying any of it— and then . . . there was silence. The last ray of light collapsed beneath a heavy, starless sky outside of the bay windows and Caroline sighed. She heard the door close and Damon was at her side in a moment. He slunk past her, an air of loathing trailing behind him. Caroline grinned wickedly.

"Does it feel good to Compel again? Don't lie to me. I know it does."

He turned on the TV, the alien light filling up the totally dark and silent room.

Caroline was waist-deep in the kitchen cabinet in search of any sort of hard liquor when she heard the bedroom door open and shut. She appeared in the archway of the kitchen and saw a flash of red hair by the front door before it swung closed. Damon was on his feet, his eyes dark. His fists were clenched tight. Caroline rolled her eyes.

"Get it together, lover boy." She strode towards the door, with a final glance upstairs. "We're going to a place that actively wards against vampires. You're going to need your wits about you."

Damon paused and glanced up at the closed door at the top of stairs. They listened to the quiet sighs of the sleeping girl. A knot moved visibly through his pale throat.

"Can you do this?"

He didn't respond. His jaw locked, his teeth grinding together.

"Damon," Caroline snapped harshly. He met her glare. "I'm serious. Things could get hairy down there. I can't have you daydreaming about the Redheaded Bradys. I need you here with me, or not at all. Can you do this?"

He looked at her blankly, as if he didn't recognize her. Then with a deep, morose sigh, he nodded.

"That seven-fifty better be worth it," he scowled.

True to his word, it seemed the entire town was under a thick and binding spell. Out of the dark they came, walking purposefully but their opaque eyes never saw a thing. Damon and Caroline followed at a distance, hiding silently in the shadows, or up in trees, but perhaps it wouldn't have matter. It seemed some had dropped immediately what they were doing to come and join the mindless herd. A woman's hair was half-straightened and Caroline smelled burnt flesh on her right hand. A man was tumbling through plaid trousers but he took no notice of the material dragging around his ankles until finally they tore away on the gravel. They came, empty and solid, pouring out of their houses like fleshy liquids, filling up the streets and all heading in the same direction— into the forest.

"So nobody realizes that the town of Mystic Falls just picks up and leaves every so often?" Caroline muttered as they followed the last bit of stragglers down through the green soft bramble.

"Who's there to say any different?" Damon replied. His face was brilliantly illuminated by the full moon. A faded memory of a young cheerleader and the dark nights spent in her purple bed-sheets with a monster tried to surface in Caroline's mind, but it flickered only momentarily before dying completely.

"The kids, for one. Like Quinn. She knew something was wrong."

Damon's eyebrow threatened to twitch. He only frowned. "Because any right-minded cop is going to believe the word of a bunch of pasty twelve year olds?"

"I did." They paused in their tumble through the grey forest. Shadows loomed above them, trees solid and quiet in their slumber. Damon stared at her. Caroline glared indignantly. He was quiet for a long time. Half his face was hidden in shadow, the other a soft blue, like his eyes. His skin was nearly translucent.

"I can't believe you're here." It wasn't a statement of glee, or relief, or pleasant surprise. His voice was hollow and sad. The disappointment was nearly tangible, the loud silence of things not said echoed in the timeless forest.

Caroline bit the inside of her cheek to hold back the surge of overwhelming loneliness. His eyes were sad and she hated it.

"Me neither." She crossed her arms, scowling into the dark, trying to peel herself away from the press of his gaze. "I've been around the world, from here and back again, and yet . . . I ended back here. In this goddamn forest . . ."

_Fire, flames, screaming, Tyler_—

"Didn't you want anything more?"

_I always thought I had— we had— more time. _

She let out a derisive laugh as anger again flexed within her like dragon wings.

"It's a hundred years later, Damon. You're still fighting to love someone who you don't deserve. We're somehow involved in some epic supernatural bullshit, standing in this goddamn forest— this fucking forest— and I'm still angry. This is eternity, Damon, get used to it."

"But isn't it better to live forever for someone than without anyone?"

Caroline's heart contracted. She turned and followed the path of the herd. "Good theory. Sucks when only half of your couple is immortal."

The walkers of Mystic Falls tumbled into wide graveyard, spilling past the mausoleums and faded tombstones. They walked without eyes into the cave at the far end. Damon and Caroline watched from the mouth of the cave.

"So they just all file in there, one by one, and at dawn they all come trotting out and back into their bedy-byes?"

Damon nodded. Caroline knew without looking he was watching the blotch of red hair move closer to the entrance. She knew where his priorities lay, but she had a job. She set her senses on high alert, scanning their bodies and sniffing their breath for anything out of place. Nothing was physically on them— no markings, no tears in the skin, no giant bug things controlling their spinal cords. What was powerful enough to control an entire town into submission?

"How's your oculist theory looking?" Damon growled.

"I can't see or smell anything that smells warlock-y. You haven't seen anything on her body?"

Damon shook his head fervently. "Nothing than the bruises in the morning."

Caroline bit her lip, her eyes narrowing. _What angle am I missing?_ Three walkers back, Amy stood, her bright hair in her face, her lips sagging.

"Have you ever tried waking her up?"

Damon wrenched his eyes away to glare at Caroline. "Please tell me that is not where my seven-fifty is going."

Caroline shrugged. "Come on, it'll be fun. I'm testing a hypothesis. Call it science."

She slid in between an old man in a plaid trench coat and Amy. Her pupils dilating, Caroline stared deeply into the almond brown eyes.

"Amy, remember—,"

Instead of freezing as anyone does under the immediate effects of Compulsion, Amy continued trudging forward. Caroline shuffled backward.

"Hey, c'mon on now, we can have a conversation—,"

Amy's mouth sagged, as though she were sleeping with her eyes open. Caroline swallowed and stood her ground.

"Amy, stop. Listen." Caroline grabbed the redhead by the shoulders— and immediately regretted it. Amy's lips ripped back in a snarl, her eyes suddenly black, and without warning, a solid fist swiped across Caroline's jaw. The connection launched the vampire off her feet and sent her flying to the side. The redhead went on as though nothing happened.

Damon stood by her as she clambered into a sitting position. Her head reeling, Caroline rubbed her jaw.

"So how's your hypothesis coming along?"

"Zip it, Pouty Mouth."

Damon reached down and pulled her onto her feet.

"So where to go next, Detective?"

Caroline couldn't help the glare that left her face. "I'm not going to figure this out in one night, smart ass. This was just a preliminary sweep."

Damon's dark brow jumped in the air. A hundred years ago, she would have turned and blushed, because those words weren't meant to come out of a ditz mouth. But she wasn't that ditz, and damned if she was going to let Damon Salvatore demean everything she worked for.

"I'll get answers soon. This is just step one."

The last of the town-walkies tumbled into opening of the cave. A felt blue bathrobe belt flopped over a pebble before slithering into the darkness. Caroline glared down into the dark, her fists clenched. Damon's gaze flickered between Caroline and the darkness. His shoulders were hunched, his hands balled underneath his elbows.

"Where's step two?" he asked quietly, his voice empty of malice.

Her fists tightened harder_. C'mon, where's a clue? Where's anything? Just a bite. A hair out of place. Just a rock overturned— where's my damn clue?_

It was occultists. It had to be. But why would they need people if not for sacrifice? What did they have that would boost dark magic? She pressed her hand against the invisible barrier. It was as cold as stone.

"Caroline. Where is step two?"

"Damon, don't—,"

People. Occultist. Dark magic. Anti-vampires. Bruises. Weakness. Fainting. What was here? _Why can't I find it?_

"Morning's coming, Caroline. Time's wasting. My money is being wasted."

Time. Old. People. Lives. Living. Not living. Source. Power. Drawing power. Need living.

"Caroline— did you freeze in there?"

Sacrifice. Continual source. Blood.

"Caroline—,"

She reached into under sock where she kept her pocketknife at all times. Without a single glance over her shoulder, she drew the blade across her open palm and making a fist, the blood oozed through her fingers and down her exposed wrist. One drop, two . . . three . . .

"Step two, Damon . . ."

The grass shivered, green blades extending like fingers around the blood pool and drawing it in. The earth mound of the cave wall wavered as though clear water was molding the dirt into mud. With every drop of mud that fell, a strobe of light broke through the muck and pierced the night. Green light, like a spring morning through a leaf, sprinkled out from the dirt wall. It flowed like active vines, turning and twisting, until with a flashy finish, a symbol glowed in bright green, standing out in the darkness of the cemetery.

Caroline smiled. Damon's eyes were a sea-foam green. The cut in her hand dried up in seconds.

"Step two, Damon, just took a little leg-work."


	7. Chapter 7: Oil Painted People

**Chapter 7: Oil Painted People**

_She put it away for another time, _

_for another instant where pity could be expressed _

_and the tragedy of their immortal lives would be inescapable once again**.**_

* * *

Blue sunlight crept through the slates in her motel blinds when the alarm on her BioNet went off. It was five thirty and she had not seen a single minute of sleep. That symbol, the one that had glowed so brilliantly on the cave wall, had burned itself into the crevices of her brain. She knew that symbol. Somewhere, she had seen it. But where in the seven layers of hell had she seen it before?

And what the fuck did it mean?

Caroline jabbed her pointer finger and thumb above and below her eyes, forcing them open like she had done back in 2027 to study for her exam to be a legalized P.I. Whew. That one had been a doozy.

Caroline reached back and chugged the entire container of Destroyer III Energy drink. Oh, how she wished for something as simple as test for a professional license to kill.

She sat in a sea of papers, of notes, of books, of scribbles. She had called up long dead contacts and sent out as many copies of the symbol to anyone she could think of. It was past professionalism— it was a nagging tick, sucking out the juices of all concentration, and now it was a matter of personal pride. It was as though someone had whispered a name to her and for a million dollars, she just had to match a name to a face but for the life of her, it was damn near impossible.

She had taken Projection Stills of the symbol and the final Projection floated from the Capsule on the end of her bed. It rotated slowly, taunting her, as if with each turn, it stole away any remaining bit of information hidden somewhere in her brain. Caroline glared at the 3D object, revolving on the end of bed.

Not only had that damn symbol remained completely elusive, but nothing else had turned up. Literally. Most times, there's a connection between languages, influence of one that helped build another. And of course, there are based languages, old, old languages that the earliest known ones are created from. And obviously, her contacts were as old as those old ones. Somebody somewhere always could read whatever she brought them and the repayment was often very cheap. But she would have paid a bucketful just to get an inkling on this thing.

Was it even a language? What would it be if not? _Crap, crap, crap— DOUBLE CRAP!_

Caroline threw the stack of notes into the air, huffing loudly. She grabbed two fistfuls of hair, growling, furious, yanking and pulling, until with a final jerk, she tumbled off the side of the bed. She stared at the wooden ceiling, sighing in frustration. The fall had knocked the stack of sources loose and a giant book on Romanian Mythos landed on her stomach.

_This is un-fucking-believable_.

Her second alarm went off. She was supposed to meet Damon in only twenty minutes and she hadn't taken a shower, brushed her teeth, or changed her clothes in twenty-four hours. _Ugh_.

Pulling her hair back in a ponytail, Caroline slipped off her shirt and found a new one. Shrugging on an old grey running jacket, she grabbed a cup of stale, cold coffee from the abandoned coffee maker. Juggling the coffee in one hand, her bag on her shoulder, and the large book of Persian Typography from the third century in the other hand, she turned and left the motel.

* * *

When she drove up to the Gables house, it was pouring. The professional knot in her stomach was tightening, as she got closer. She had nothing for her client. Not a single bit of anything to point her in the right direction. There was nothing she could tell Damon about the future of his wife. She couldn't ease the distraught he felt— the not knowing was all consuming.

Her knuckles went white around the Steering Disk. That was the worst. Not knowing.

Having to shift through tons of rubble to find his body. There was a taste of hot ash in her throat. It was almost morning when they did. She had so many splinters by the end of the night.

Caroline slurped down the cold coffee like milk. It nearly spilled down her shirt. Her hand was shaking. Furious, she dropped the cup into the drink slot and reached into her back for her actual Zippo lighter. She won it off a guy in a pub in 2018, right before they were discontinued. Consequently, it was also the year she picked up smoking. It had only been six years after she lost Tyler and every other hard drug out there was socially unacceptable and less socially accessible. Cigarette smoking was easy, cheap and everywhere. Caroline took out a cigarette, the kind they used to make, lit it and took a deep breath. Like wavering water calmed in the wind, she slid back in her seat, breathing softly.

A couple more inhales and she would be right as rain. Thunder crashed against clouds in the sky, illuminating up the early morning with jagged bolts of lightening. Caroline smirked. _Well, metaphorically speaking._

* * *

Damon opened the door, looking as if it was three in the afternoon. His hair was washed, face clean of scruff and his eyes sharp. He had been up for several hours, just as Caroline had. But clearly, those hours had been more merciful on him. His nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Did you just stumble out of a bar?"

Caroline wrapped the thin jacket tighter around her soaked shoulders. Her jaw gave an unconscious jitter from the cold and rain. She hurled a hell of a glare to him under the heavy curtain of blonde, wet hair.

"No, I don't mind getting the third degree in the rain while I freeze my ass off. Please, continue."

His mouth a thin line, Damon stepped back and she stumbled through.

"Just don't get—,"

Caroline let her hair down from the hood and shook herself free of the dripping water.

"—water everywhere."

"Oops." Caroline wrung her hair out right onto the clean wooden floor, her eyes locked into Damon's.

He sighed . . . and the annoyance was gone. "Can I get you a cup of coffee? A blanket?"

The banter stumbled and after a pause, Caroline shook her head.

"No, um, thanks. It's fine. Do you have a back room we can go to?"

Damon nodded and gestured to his office. "Amy and Quinn are both asleep. Everybody's a little rattled after last night."

Caroline stepped into the office and realized she was still dripping water. With her nose in the air and a swallowing sense of embarrassment flaring in her cheeks, she slipped off her jacket and put it on the wooden hanger next to the door. Damon followed a moment later and closed the door behind them. His body moved, relaxed, but he closed the door with one hand, for the other held a clear class of fine brandy.

"Everyone's rattled and they don't know why." The smile he gave her was more of a grimace, pain-induced rather than one of comfort. "What have you found?"

Caroline swallowed, turning to face him. The room suddenly broke out into a chill and yet, a hot bolt of sweat fell down her spine. The floor, it seemed, had changed to ice. She crossed her arms and felt the moon tattoo above her left breast grow warm. The warmth surged through her and she stood up definitely. She was going to deal with this professionally, as she would with any client.

"I haven't got anything."

Damon stared at her blankly.

"I can't find that symbol. In anything. Anywhere. Nobody's heard of it. Nobody's seen it." In an effort to break the ice over the floor, Caroline grabbed her bag and over turned it on his desk. She grabbed her notes, throwing them up and down, finding old Chinese lettering on one book and shoved it in his face. "It's old, Damon. Way older than any of my contacts. I'm not even sure it's a language. I mean I can find references that look like it, changed and molded, but never the actual symbol—,"

"What am I paying you for?"

Caroline looked up from the mess of papers. His voice was colder than any ice she had never felt. He was staring pointedly into the amber liquid. He twisted his wrist and the ice clinked against the glass. When his gaze met hers, it was as though she had plunged into the Artic.

"Out of blessing, it seems you've finally gone silent. So let me answer. I'm paying you for answers. It's been one hundred years and nothing's changed. You are still stupid and you are still useless. As always."

The paper in her hand turned into a wad in her fists. A book appeared in her hand. In front of her, there was a flash of amber and blue and suddenly, his long fingers held her pale wrist in an iron vice. The glass was broken, wasted liquor oozing out onto the carpet.

"Here's another answer for you. If you're wondering if you can hit me with that book before I can move, yes. You probably could. But you won't. Do you want to know why?" The grip tightened to almost a painful turn. She knew what was coming and it filled her with more hate, more fury, more anguish than she had felt in a long time. "Because I own you. You come in here with your loud mouth and some worldly experience, and you think you know anything. You don't. I make the rules."

"I could quit. I could just— leave," she spat through gritted teeth.

"You could, but you won't. And it's not the money. You've been running for a hundred years. You can't out run it now. You're in this town and you'll see it through to the end because that's what you are, Caroline. As useless as you might be, you're a fighter. You'll see this through."

Her jaw clenched, she grabbed him and pulled him forward.

"And at the end of the day, you know I'm all you have— if you want to save the backdrops to your stupid game."

"And I'm your only chance at salvation."

At that, they both pushed away roughly. Immediately, they heard Amy Gable groan sleepily as she rolled over in bed two rooms away.

"You and me, Salvatore," Caroline panted. When exactly she stopped breathing, she wasn't sure. "We're going to have it out one day. Nothing held back and I'm going to make you regret every word you ever said about me."

He straightened the wrinkles in his shirt her hand left. "I've told you, Caroline. I don't do that any more."

"Yeah, course, you don't." She shoved her papers and books back into her back and strode out the office doors. "I'll let you know when I find something."

In the hallway, a bleary-eyed Quinn stood, her hand clutching a teddy bear. It seemed more like a cane rather than a comfort object.

"I heard a noise."

Damon was out and kneeling down next to her in seconds. "Sorry, sweetie. Caroline just came over to talk about some old photos she found. She—,"

Quinn pushed him aside and looked up at Caroline with brilliant green eyes. Caroline saw that same rough determination that showed up at her doorstep those many nights ago, but now, it was blurred by sleepiness and irritation.

"Can you stay to make breakfast?"

"Honey, I can make you breakfast—,"

"I want Dr. Caroline to make me breakfast."

Something hard visibly moved through Damon's throat. His hand fell away from her shoulder as he glanced up at the woman he threatened moments before.

"Caroline? What do you say?"

She knew exactly how deeply Quinn's favor cut Damon; it shown in his dark eyes. With a sharp smile, Caroline nodded.

"I'd love to."

* * *

Damon hovered like a black shadow for over an hour. He had tried in the beginning to be a part of their conversation but with Caroline's abrupt answers and even vaguer ones from Quinn, he dropped into the background. He even stepped back from making the batter. When they had started flipping the last of the pancakes, he had been sitting at the breakfast table, glaring roughly at Caroline's head for at least fifteen minutes.

"I think you should just hit her." Caroline said astutely. Quinn had just finished describing a little bitch of a girl in her class who has systematically tried to ruin Quinn's life since the beginning of school. "Just walk up and smack her and the problem's done."

"Can I interject with a very prominent 'no'?" Damon asked pointedly. "Quinn, why have you told us about this girl?"

"Because," said Quinn from the stove. "I know exactly what you'd say. 'Talk to her', 'discuss where her issues with you are coming from'. I just liked hearing an alternative and interesting suggestion."

"I'm full of those." Caroline winked.

"Damon, go get Mom. We're done here." Quinn slid the last pancake onto the already towering stack.

His shoulders tightening, Damon jerked up from the table and left the room.

Beyond satisfied, Caroline resisted the urge to ruffle Quinn's brilliant hair. She was expertly covering the pancakes with goopy syrup.

"That's a lot of sugar, kid. Will your mom be cool with that?"

"Pancakes without syrup isn't natural. It's gross."

"Like I said, does your mom care?"

"I don't care what my mom thinks."

Caroline grinned, rolling her eyes. She turned and leaned against the counter by the back of her forearms. "Careful, or you'll really think that way, and I know from personal experience that isn't how you should be with your mom."

Quinn watched the syrup seep down the mountain of pancakes, like water melting from frozen icecaps. "Do you like your mom?"

"Yeah."

"Did you ever want to protect her?"

Caroline frowned slightly, keeping most of her dark curiosity from being visible. There was no way this kid was resisting Compulsion . . .

"Do you want to protect your mom?"

"I need to."

"From Damon."

Quinn froze. Frayed straw hair orbited her face, her forehead moist from the fumes of cooking; she became an oil-painted girl. Something you hung above your fireplace as a stranger and a watchful eye all at once.

"He's not mine."

Caroline only nodded.

"He's not my dad. He tries and I try and my mom tries but he's not happy. We're not right for him."

Caroline nodded again.

"He's making up for something." Quinn drew a finger across the top of the pancakes, swirling the brown oozy fluid. "Mandy, a friend of mine, her parents got divorced. On the first trip to her dad's new house, I went with her because she was nervous and sad. Her dad got her a puppy. Damon has the same face on all the time, like Mandy's dad. I think we're the puppy."

Caroline nodded, a hot lump in her throat. She had been so enthralled with Damon just two days ago. Why was she so separate from him, despite the lack of suspicion that he was hurting Amy? Caroline rubbed the tips of straight, flame-red hair between her fingers, unsure of where to look, but Liz always played with her hair in this way whenever Caroline herself was upset.

"Quinn, you have to know that your da— Damon— loves you very, very much. I know it's awkward, someone else coming into your family, when it was just you and your mom for so long. But all kids go through this. They feel like the new person just doesn't fit."

"Oh, I think he fits fine, for us, I mean." Quinn frowned, as if trying to be very careful with her next words. "He is a good husband. He's a good dad. He fits for us. We don't fit for him and that's why he's not happy." Quinn let out a sigh, evidently pleased with her phrasing. She jumped down and slid the plate from the counter. "Caroline, what was he like when you knew him?"

Caroline swallowed the hot ball of air in her throat. She put it away for another time, for another instant where pity could be expressed and the tragedy of their immortal lives would be inescapable once again. She slid back further behind an iron curtain and through twists of metal nuts and bolts, she was smiling at the little girl. She could feel her feature hardening.

"He was a good guy. A little rough around the edges. But a good guy."

Quinn paused and looked over her shoulder at Caroline as an owl would inspect a foreign object— friend or foe?

"Oh."

"Quinny, this looks delicious!" Amy waltzed into the kitchen and the whole room seemed brighter. She wrapped a long, freckle-kissed arm around her daughter and pressed a precious kiss onto the little forehead. "You are such an amazing cook!"

"Caroline helped!" Quinn said. She was no longer an oil-painted girl. She laughed and moved with the bright veracity of any little human. Her hair swayed and her eyes twinkled. She pulled out a chair for her mother and gleefully, clapped her hands when her mother took a bite.

"Well, I can't take all the credit." Caroline smiled. "Damon, he—,"

Damon appeared in the archway. Skin slack, and eyes gaunt, he looked as though he had been kicked in the stomach, repeatedly. With an iron boot. With a sudden and sick realization, Caroline understood he had heard the entire conversation. The one where Quinn knew their happy time as a family would come to an end. The entire façade was crumbling and Damon, being the love-struck fool that he is and forever would be, was grasping at melting rock. He was watching it drip through his fingers like hot wax, burning him as it oozed out of existence.

"Damon, you should really try these pancakes! We have a pancake coinsurer on our hands!"

As weirder things had happen in the cursed town of Mystic Falls, Caroline crossed the room and took Damon by the shoulder.

"He can't," Caroline said, her voice foreign and her actions bizarre. "We have another meeting later today. One of his workers at the plant got sick and he wants me to look into the cause. We'll be back later."

In a fraction of an instant, he hesitated, as if to pull away and run straight at the burning flames of his carefully built façade. His eyes darted to her face. She felt warmth grow behind her ears and gears cranking furiously, she smiled to Quinn and Amy.

"This will just take a couple of hours. C'mon, Damon. I'll buy breakfast."

* * *

Walking a precarious line to the front door, she opened the door and leaving two very confused faces at the breakfast table, she and Damon left the house.

The house was at least ten miles back and not a single word, gaze or breath had been exchanged. Caroline wasn't exactly sure where she was driving to, but it became instantly apparent to the two of them that the destination didn't matter when Damon relaxed into the seat next to her.

That was several minutes ago. A vintage hula girl shimmed on her dashboard. The irritating smile painted onto the wooden head begged her to start a conversation. But Caroline simply floored the pedal. They flew along the back roads, passed farms and woods. Going nowhere.

"Why did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Really? We're going to play that game?"

Caroline rolled her eyes. "Look, don't get your panties in a wad about it. You looked like you were about to pass out and when she went to resuscitate you and you didn't have a pulse, that could probably lead to some very bad things. Besides, you looked a little . . . pale."

Damon was silent, staring intently ahead of him at the road. He rubbed his chin, his elbow resting the window. When he spoke, his voice was thick as though he had been gargling gravel.

"You're a good private investigator," he murmured, looking at the hand on his thigh. "You understand a tense situation. You understand people. You know how to . . . save people."

Caroline felt that warmth behind her ears again. She snatched the hula girl off the dash and threw her in the back seat. "There's a flask of blood in the Console. If you want it."

Without question, Damon took out the metal flask and threw the blood down his throat. He slumped back in the seat, eyes closed. A quick tongue lapped up the blood on his lips and he let out a content groan of pleasure. There was a pause and he handed her the flask. His eyes still closed, Caroline glanced at him and she flashed a small grin before it disappeared behind the rim of the flask. The blood was cold and frankly rather dry, but clearly it worked in a pinch.

"Hey, turn up there." Damon's finger indicated a small country road that had yet to be paved by the Fiber Ways. Capping the flask and dropping it back into the Console, Caroline turned, the car bouncing as it went off the beaten path.

"What's down here?"

He didn't look at her. "I want to show you something."

* * *

He led her through the underbelly of Mystic Falls. Hanging mosses dripped down from branches, dipping slowly in the warm wind. Here the forest reverted. It was untouched by the construction of chrome and bright lights. Caroline slid down the window, hot marsh air rolling against her forehead and fingers. The rapid expansion of towns and cities and people in the past one hundred years had all but consumed every natural site, and yet, because of the town counsel's obsessive desire to remain in 1897, they passed a limit on how big the town could expand. So here, it remained, ancient, sleepy, moist and frothy with the furry green branches of Weeping Willows. Caroline felt a tentative smile crack onto her lips as the sticky air tied a knot of hair on the back of her neck. Swamp moisture gathered on her cheeks and again her ears were warm.

Damon pointed to another small road and the car shimmed under the turn from dirt to squishy wet mulch. They wove between towering pine trees and faded, wet sunlight peering at them through the wooden columns. The mulch dropped out and the trees broke into weak stumps, as a house grew out of the ground in the center of the clearing.

An unfinished structure, the front was open for multiple windows, but a thick oak door was in place. A chimney would be on the far left, but most of the shingles had yet to be installed on the roof. Pipes and slates of plastic and wood were littered in stacks around the house. Caroline pulled up to the far left and turned off the car. Damon stared up at window-less feature with something akin to quiet pride in his eyes.

"This is Salvatore mansion, version 2.0." He shut the door and walked up the hill, his strides elongating as he went, as though the house itself had some gravitational pull on him. A sharp morning wind picked up and Caroline wrapped her jacket around her. Her knees were shaking. Great clouds, the color of granite, loomed over the smattering of tiles on the roof. Caroline followed Damon up into the house.

He was already inside when she pulled the oak door closed against the wind. Plastic sheets hung down from the ceiling, covering hallways and minimizing the sense of the size of the building. Blotches of paint covered the walls, different shades and different coloring. Paintings of rickety farms and dark portraits lay on the floor or sat propped up against the wall. He had tossed in some furniture, a dark green couch and some sitting chairs. However, it wouldn't be anything Damon Salvatore was proud of if it didn't come with a fully stocked bar.

He closed the small wooden door, a cabinet by the wall, and handed Caroline a bottled beer.

"It's been in the works for a couple of years now. Amy just thinks it's a hobby of mine, something I do instead of building boats in the basement." When he flopped down onto the couch, she noticed a surprising lack of dust exhume from the cushions. That meant he spent a lot of time here, as if he lived there.

However, in the wake of any dust, a question still hung in the air.

"I like it, Damon." Caroline said, sipping the beer as she leaned into a sitting chair. "But seriously, talk about a skeleton in your closet."

"What do you mean?" Damon frowned.

Caroline shrugged and gestured to the room with the bottle. "This whole thing is a skeleton, threadbare. I mean it's got a nice structure and everything. I can really see it coming together, but right now, it's just . . . empty."

Damon swallowed his next sip with hard eyes. Finally, he nodded. "I tried to save some stuff from the old house. Refurbished it. Reupholstered it. The other stuff I got off line."

"IKEA?"

Damon rolled his eyes. "Do I look like an IKEA person to you?" He shuddered. "Wait, on second thought, if I do, don't tell me."

Caroline hid a hesitant smile by standing up and looking around the room. This would clearly be the living room. There was already a wall socket cleared out for a HD-vision to be BlueTooth-ed. Passed a plastic curtain, she saw a hallway leading off into the dark, and a matching hallway on the opposite side of the room.

"What's down here?" Caroline indicated the rest of the house with a tilt of her head.

Damon raised his eyes from a spot on the carpet as though she had spoken another language. "Do you _want_ to see it?"

Caroline sighed and put a hand on her hip. "No, I'm asking because I want to know if that's where you hide the bodies. Yes, of course, I want to see it."

She felt something leap into her throat and there it pounded until she couldn't breath. Her hand dropped from her hip like a puppeteer would release a string from his doll. At that moment, it occurred to her that she had killed over fifty supernatural entities in her one hundred and twenty-one years of life. She had traveled the world and been consumed by all that was naturally fantastic. She had been running for so, so long. And now, under the breaking wind and tattered shingles of incomplete house that was hidden away in the bogs of southern Virginia, that chapter of her life had ended. Her era of Pain was changing. If it would end, she didn't know, but now it was evolving into something great. Bigger. Shared. After one hundred years of solitude, she stood in a shamble of a living room, drinking Dos Equis with Damon Salvatore. The beautiful broken angel of her sixteen-year-old fantasies. She had wanted to change him, make him better, until the day she realized there's no salvation for creatures like him, like her. Like them.

The abrasive wind knocked against the plastic flaps over the windows, making them pop and shudder. She heard the last whisperings of the wind as it galloped into the dark corners and under the buoyant, wooden furniture. She straightened up and instinctively, she went for the PI badge attached to her hip under her jacket. It was cold.

Damon watched her. She recognized that look in a thousand other purps she had been hired to find and or kill. It was the look prefacing the decision to lie. He took another sip and stood.

"C'mon, the kitchen's this way."

They wove together between the open stone and scratchy brick of the house. He had everything planned to the very last coat of paint and last move of furniture. A study was meant for all of his logging business, somewhere he could hold meetings with clients and the board. He wanted a library for his collected books— mostly from the Pre-Modernist writers. He had five copies of Frankenstein and intended to have a glass case made for each of them. There was a massive kitchen, probably one of the biggest rooms in the house. Caroline didn't point out how useless a kitchen that size would be if he was the only one living there. He insisted on only three bedrooms.

"Stefan loved waltzing from bedroom to bedroom, complaining about his eternal loneliness." He took her into a smaller room with a high vaulted ceiling. A muffled bed, the sheets and duvet crumpled in a heap in the center, was raised on a long wooden support. The headboard and footboard laid together propped up on the wall. A dresser stood by the wall. Caroline knew without a doubt that despite the disarray of the entire house, any clothes inside that dresser were nicely folded and pressed. He was still a Salvatore after all. The vaguely painted walls were covered instead with hand-drawn sketches. Caroline approached one of the sketches. It was the town lake, where she had spent many begrudging summers camping with her mother.

"Have you started drawing yet?" Damon asked looking out the window.

Caroline shrugged. It was an unspoken event that occurred in every vampire's life, perhaps in every immortal's life. When you are first Changed, everything is overwhelming and bright and every day is a constant battle to keep from killing everything with a heartbeat. But as time wears on, one can enter a time that Caroline personally called "the grace period": everything becomes wonderful. Awe-inspiring. Reading becomes more enjoyable and easier and faster. Art appears more beautiful than ever because you are really seeing it for the first time. Caroline remembered looking up at the Sistine Chapel and nearly sobbing on the ground. Others believed she was a Michelangelo fan but she could see what they just simply couldn't. As a vampire, everything was enhanced. It was the unspoken event that every vampire at least once tried their hand at one of the arts. Caroline's was writing, not drawing. She told Damon as much.

In response, a crooked grimace opened on his jaw. "Figures."

"What does that mean?" The blush escalated down her neck. Just the thought of anyone ever even laying eyes on what she had written gave her a sense of terror like few things ever could.

"You have that thirst for drama like most writers do. I'm guessing you were actually really good, but having anyone read it sends you into fits, am I right?"

Caroline coolly tossed her hair over her shoulder, throwing bits of ice into the air. "I don't know. It never matter enough to me to keep it. I was bored one day in Prague, sue me."

She peered at another drawing, adamantly refusing to look at him. It was several moments before she realized what she was looking at. It was an image of Matt Donovan in a suit, his hands grasped tightly around the white-gloved hands of Elena Gilbert at their wedding. The drawing was so well done, Caroline felt she was staring at a black and white photograph. Caroline couldn't remember when she looked happier. Her hair was cut short to her shoulders, falling about in romantic curls. She knew it was her mother's dress instantly; she had seen it in all the wedding photos left around in the Gilbert house.

"That image haunted my dreams for a long time." He had crossed the room silently and stood at her shoulder like a ghost floating around her head. "Every night I would dream of them together and wake up with different feelings pumping through me every morning. I hated them. I felt sorry for them. I felt sorry for me. I regretted everything and regretted nothing. Their happiness consumed me, chewed me down and spat out a sad, old man."

Caroline ran a finger down Elena's smiling face. "Was she really happy? Was she going to make it?" She looked behind her at his grey eyes. He nodded. This is the closest they had been since her arrival in Mystic Falls. She could drop her head back and it would fall so perfectly into the crook of his neck.

"I gave up everything for that girl. It was only fitting that I saw her happy in the end. Even if it was someone else."

The silence he left echoing behind her pressed on her back like a muted scream. He stumbled to the bed and sat down, chugging back the rest of his beer.

"Did she ask about me? Was she sad I wasn't there?"

"I don't know. She refused to see me and the only time she did see me, she didn't say more than five words. She wouldn't even look me in the eye. Like she was trying to hide something from me." He made an indignant noise. "And Matt, that bastard, he wouldn't even look me in the eye. They were all keeping secrets and crazy Damon couldn't be let in on the dirty details."

"What else was there?" Caroline stared roughly at the picture of her friend, the most recent one she had.

Damon sighed, as if offended she didn't comfort him in his aggression towards their human friends. "It was big. Lavish. A lot flashier than I thought Elena ever wanted. I guess I didn't know her that well."

Caroline rolled her eyes. "I didn't ask you to show me the place so we could take a trip down Depression Lane." She glanced around the room for more pictures of her friends when her eyes fell on a box in the corner. "What's in there?"

Damon's gaze dropped out as though her watching him burnt him somehow. "Not my best moments."

"Ooh, please tell me there's a human head in there." She put her bottle on a shelf and crossed the room. He was there in an instant, grabbing her wrist to put a stop to her snooping.

"Caroline, don't." There was a tremor of pleading in his voice.

"There could be evidence for my case in this box. Don't you want me to do my job?" She was a flirtation away from batting her lashes at him.

"There isn't."

Truly irritated and perhaps unreasonably so, Caroline yanked her hand free. She pursed her lips. "Damon, who the hell am I going to tell?"

The lines around his eyes tightened for a moment before he released his hand. Damon sighed and sat down on the bed. He let his fears go with a wave of his hand. "Open it, then."

Caroline ripped open the box with a glee of a child at Christmas.

Bonnie's book of spells stared up at her. Caroline picked it up with a trembling hand. Bonnie had begun to write down all of her experimentations. It was filled with mental notes and edits to the spells and Bonnie's thoughts for the day. One page there was even a grocery list. A "Marry, Fuck, Kill" list on the other. It was as though she held Bonnie's stream of consciousness in her hands. Caroline dropped the book when she saw Jeremy's signed baseball. One hundred years of age had made the ball ripe and brown. It rolled away when Caroline dove for Alaric's old flask. That clinked against the wood floor as Caroline gathered Stefan's journal. His elegant, smooth handwriting flew across the page and she heard his soft, firm voice in her head after one hundred years of silence.

A soft gasp crawled from her throat, like a mouse escaping into the sunlight. Her tiny, dirty cheerleading uniform was tucked in the side. She gathered it and smelled the sweat of hundreds of late night football. The screams, the cheers, the laughing, and pizza at one in the morning surfaced again. She breathed the memories in, painful in her mind like breathing in the dust from the inside of a crypt. In the bottom of the box, all that remained was a gorgeous white dress and matching gloves. Elena's wedding gown. The gloves smelled foreign, different as though they were hands of someone else, shoved into the gloves until they popped. But the dress, oh, the dress. It was a Gilbert's. There were even hints of Jeremy there. Caroline was drowning in memories of high school, of freshly painted fingernails, AP-exams, boys and sex, nights in the school gym for parties, gross teachers and friends. Very, very good friends. Of Bonnie Bennett and Elena Gilbert. Very good friends. When she surfaced, she was drowning in sticky tears. She gasped and wiped her face clean.

Damon was staring heatedly into the bottom of his bottle. She nearly tripped on the dress as she sat down next to him. Their shoulders touched.

"Thank you." Her voice was wet but the tears were trapped again. She swallowed but the expanding, burning sensation was still there in her throat. "Jesus Christ, Damon, thank you for keeping all of these."

* * *

_*A/N: So glad that I still have followers and reviewers for this story. I promise you guys, in just a few chapters (like two) SO much shit will hit the fan, but right now, I want you all to realize, Damon and Caroline are pretty much the only ones left from the Mystic Falls we know and love. And unfortunately for them, it's taking them a while to figure it out. There is so much coming for this story so don't give up and don't give up on Daroline. You won't be disappointed._


	8. Chapter 8: Oh, Lazarus

**Chapter 8: Oh, Lazarus, Why You So Afraid?**

_The moon hung in the sky like a great and watchful eye._

_And then, the eye blinked._

* * *

She had sealed up the box soon after he stood up and announced that it was getting late and Amy would be worried. Caroline nodded and they left the empty, hollow house buried in the back woods of Mystic Falls. They were silent the entire ride home. The Hover Wheels had just touched the ground when Damon popped open the door to leave.

"Wait." Caroline reached into the Console and took out the flask of blood. "Take this. I know your blood is on short supply—,"

"I don't do that any more." His jawline was solid.

Caroline's eyes narrowed as her indignation flared. "What was this morning?"

"A mistake."

"Goddamn it, Damon, you need your strength. Just take it. How long has it been since that drink this morning?"

When he didn't answer, she grabbed his hand and shoved the flask into his palm. "You moron. It's dangerous what you're doing."

The metal clattered with the plastic ground. "You keep it. I'll come to you if I need more."

He stood, the last bit of murky sunlight hitting his face as he left the car. The rocky storm wasn't done and Caroline knew it was only minutes before it started to pour again. Damon turned and glanced back at her through the window. The window itself was dirty, smudged with miles of travel. It blurred his image.

"Please find out what the symbol means. Let me know what I need to do to help."

She watched him trot up into his big brick house. The one thing she remembered most about his unfinished hideaway was how open it was, so full of windows. Windows were everywhere. The brick square he just disappeared into was heavy, full of stone and pickled with very few windows. Caroline glanced at her Sunlight ring on her pinky finger before turning back onto the road and heading back to her motel.

* * *

Despite the spring months approaching, the next few days reminded Caroline of her time spent in Mexico: confined, hot, and grey. Damon didn't message or call in those days and Caroline felt no desire to contact him. This gave her time to dive deeper into the mysterious symbol. The AirVent broke the day after Damon had shown her the house, so Caroline stripped down into spandex and a t-shirt, walking around her wooden box of a motel room. Some days, with the window curtain closed, she tottered around in her underwear, hair wrapped on top of her head with pencils while the escaping whips glued themselves to her earlobes and tickled the nape of her neck.

The walls looked like the inside of an insane asylum. Newspaper clippings of the other towns hung amongst chalk drawings Gaelic readings. She had blown up the photos of the crop-circles. It was well into the second day when she, out of sheer frustration, decided to play to see if there was any correlation there. To her immense and total surprise, her contact at Area 51 said they were the same language. The language was totally unreadable and foreign but the style and markings were the same. However, they were different from any other crop circle sightings anywhere and in any time frame.

"I don't know what to tell you, babe," Dave the Gargoyle said. "The usual circles are usually birthday greetings to the president from Mars or a 'Happy New Years, love, Jupiter' sort of thing. I haven't ever seen this before, but I'll run it through the database anyway. Maybe something will turn up."

"Thanks, Dave. Please keep in touch."

"Anything for my favorite blood sucker."

The monotony of the case cleared her mind. It was like playing jigsaw with very random pieces. It distracted her and emptied all thoughts of a previous life in Mystic Falls from her head. She could forget her inner struggle that day in the house.

She could forget how one minute, she was obsessed with pushing Damon out of the way and running away with his box of treasures— their box of treasures. She was as much owed to those items as he was, probably even more. But then they would haunt her. Like ghosts, they would infest her thoughts, her clothes, her skin, her coffee until she could taste Elena in her breakfast. And that practically defeated the whole purpose of running away. That smoky stench of her life as girly little Caroline would choke the remaining life out of her, there was no doubt about that. The absolute determination that she did the right thing by leaving with her dignity was well enough to keep out the wriggling thought that nothing of Matt's or Tyler's was found in that box.

Caroline blinked, the brightness of her TabletTop burning her eyes suddenly. Matt's brown eyes stared out at her from layers of wrinkles, grey hair and slim glasses. Without a conscious thought, she had stumbled upon his obituary page again. Her eyes stung again, but this time for a personal reason. Furious that her train of thought concerning the case was broken and practically thrown of the rails, Caroline slammed the lid shut.

Hot afternoon rain pounded the windows of her motel. The AirVent spluttered, gasped to breathe, then died again. Sweat oozed down her back like a dazed snake. She hadn't slept in two days. The heat, the tightness of the air, the thickness of the room, was all entirely overwhelming. Caroline stumbled to the bed and fell

* * *

Into fire.

Caroline gasped and it hurt, ash setting the inside of her throat alight. She coughed and wheezed and looked up in time to see a bulk of burning wood come crashing down on her. She rolled as the flames expanded and sizzled on impact. She turned and saw an archway. Throwing off her jacket that had started to burn on the fringe, she bolted forward.

Flames burned marble and satin curtains. It burned the pine-made chairs and pastel hand-made rugs. It ate the Lockwood Mansion inside out.

"Caroline, get out!" Stefan was pulling a nearly unconscious Elena up the breaking stairs from the basement. There was a massive cut down the side of her face and his lip was split nearly in two.

"Where's Klaus?" Caroline heard her voice among the din of flaming destruction.

"Damon is keeping him down in the basement with Bonnie. She almost has the portal open."

"If you haven't noticed, there won't be a basement any time soon!"

Stefan caught her eyes as Caroline grabbed Elena. They seemed blackened by the flames. "I know. I have to go back down there to save them."

"Stefan—,"

"Take her outside! Go!"

His face was gaunt in the jump of the flames and shadows. She wanted to say be safe, if this was goodbye. _Thank you, Stefan, for everything, you saved me when no one else could—_

"Caroline GO!"

She dove between scorched wood and falling ceiling. Finally, on the front lawn of the Lockwood mansion, she laid a badly burnt Elena on the grass. Her human stumbled along the line of consciousness. Patches of purple and blood stood out like welts on her white flesh, as though someone run out of the human-colored skin when tailoring her together. Caroline eased her out of harm's way, Elena's limp arm sliding to the ground. Her heart thumping painfully in her ears, Caroline didn't see Elena stir.

"Caroline . . ." She lifted a frail hand to Caroline's ash-covered face.

"Elena, you have to hold on. I have to go get the others."

"Don't leave me."

Caroline breathed and it turned into a gasp and tears trickled onto Elena's bloody face. "I'll be back. I swear." She kissed the smooth forehead there. "I promise, I won't ever leave you. Never."

Elena nodded, her head bobbing like she had no control. Her chest quivered and the smell of hot salt hit Caroline like a dark wave. Elena was crying too. "We should never have done this. We shouldn't have tried—,"

Caroline's tears dripped down her neck, uncontrolled rivulets. "Elena— no— we were right— we have to be—,"

"But, what if they don't come back?" Little Elena moaned. "Bring them home, Caroline, bring them back."

The flames looked miniscule, even comforting, in her tears. Caroline nodded, her chin wobbling. "You have to stay too." Every inch of Caroline was shivering, despite the waves of throbbing heat behind her. Elena swallowed, gasping and heaving.

"I will if you will." Elena raised a thin pinky finger. "For cupcakes and the Mad Hatter."

Caroline smiled but it made her whole face hurt and she felt spittle drip from her mouth as though her lips were crying. She locked her finger with Elena's. "For cupcakes and the Mad Hatter."

The fact that Bonnie was not there to complete the incantation made in a garden on an eight-year-old birthday was more choking than any smoke or flame or faucet of tears.

"I'll bring her back," Caroline whispered. "I'll bring them all back."

In a flash of fiery light, Jeremy stumbled out with Matt. Their faces hung with the blur of exhaustion but they tumbled forward and fell down onto the grass. Elena released a sob as she rolled onto Jeremy and grabbed at Matt's collar with a free hand.

"You guys going to be okay?"

Elena nodded and Caroline turned, watching her friend prop herself up on her elbows in the corner of her eye. She dove back into the flames.

More of the roof was falling in. Hallways were broken and the floor smelled of tar, but still she ducked around blazing comets, trashing through the air and shattering on the floor. Walking carefully, she dove down into the basement.

Immediately it became harder to breathe. But there was fast wind down here, as though the air was being pulled away. She heard muffled shouts and she tumbled towards them.

In the center of the cellar, Bonnie stood as a force of nature. Her outstretched hands were burnt and bits of her hair were singed, but she still roared ancient words into a swirling vortex of fire. Opposite her, Klaus watched the column of fire shake and thrash with terrified eyes. Steel manacles, entombed with magic, held him to the ground,

In the airless dark, she saw Damon arguing with Stefan. His fist was clasped tightly in a ball of Stefan's shirt. His other hand pointed furiously at the whirling vortex of fire. Stefan watched it helplessly. But they didn't matter— not as much as—

"Tyler!" Caroline knelt by her boy, her Tyler. His wrists were open. As the only supernatural being among them with living blood, he offered to be the blood sacrifice to start the ritual. But it was too much blood loss, too much. Even in the churning blaze of light, Caroline saw he was deathly pale.

"Caroline," he murmured. He fell against her the moment she put her arms around him. He felt tiny, as though he was shedding more than blood.

"The ritual's almost done— you can stop soon—,"

"Caroline, I know the house is burning down. You were always were a horrible liar." His eyes looked black in the flames. He had nothing inside. Caroline's hands started to shake.

"It'll be okay." She pulled him onto her lap. "Bonnie's almost done." He was barely a shadow now, dark inside and covered in the wet black of his own blood. He was fading.

The witch struggled against the forces of nature. Her hair floated on the power and her eyes were totally white. She was tipped back, weighed down by the forces she summoned. Klaus's horrified look was wiped clean; he stared at the column of fire with white, unseeing eyes.

Suddenly, the column began to hum and thrust side to side. Bonnie's hands twitched. Her sagging mouth now turned into a straight line and screamed the incantation. Stefan's eyes widened.

"Caroline! She's loosing control!"

She pulled the shadow of the man she once loved closer and closer. "NO! She can do it! She has to!"

The wind picked up and the whirling from the tornado fire whistled louder. Tyler's body shivered, each muscle contracting. His blood slithered from his wrists black and thick like poisoned molasses. She thought she heard him whisper her name, but every breath was belabored, overdrawn, a piece of him left each time.

"Tyler, I won't leave you— I won't." She whispered into his ear. "I swear. I will never—,"

He wheezed and his head fell back. When their eyes met, she felt as though the whole world had rolled into an eclipse.

"I can't take you to Paris." He heaved. "Or to London. Or Rome. I can't take you there."

Caroline knew she was crying, sobbing, but there was no way to turn it off. "Tyler, I don't care about any of that! You-you-you just have to get better, okay? You just have to be here with me!"

He sighed, the noise like his lungs were collapsing into dust.

"I can't do that either."

Bonnie's body began to pulse and shiver. Klaus's body, as still as a stone statue, began to vibrate. But the wind was too loud, too violent. Damon stepped back from the scene, the flames too hot and free.

"Tyler, no, you have to be here— with me— how can I get along without you?" She felt almost stupid, pulling at his clothes and face, bringing the remaining husk of her love towards her, like a child would clutch at a threadbare blanket during a thunderstorm. "Tyler, please, please, don't leave me."

"You saved me. Now I'm saving you, to save someone else."

With a crack that sounded like breaking timber, Klaus rocked forward and fell into the mouth of the whirling flame column. He was gone. But Bonnie didn't know that. She wasn't breathing. She was as stiff as a board, every tendon and ligament frozen in place. She was more wax than human, more nature than girl.

"I want you to fight, Caroline. Fight for me. Be strong, Care. You always have."

"No, Tyler! Don't you dare leave me! You promised me! You loved me!" She leaned forward, burying her face in his neck for the last time. She couldn't hear him breathing. "You promised . . ."

Suddenly, Bonnie went rigid, hands at her sides, and everything went quiet. The flames trickled to a silent snap and pop. Stefan stepped forward, his hand out stretched. His lips just parted, as though to speak, to wake their friend from the horrible destruction of her power. Caroline's own sobbing rang loudly, painfully in her ears.

As Stefan's fingertips could barely touch her skin, where he could feel the heat coming from her blood, Bonnie's head snapped back and she gasped. The voice that left her tiny body was not of this world.

"Run."

Tyler's chest deflated and Caroline let out a scream. Perhaps it was his name. Maybe it was a scream of disbelief. Maybe one of pain. All she knew was that the sound hurt her ears.

What happened next tortured her for the next hundred years.

Someone grabbed her by the waist and she was suddenly flying away from Tyler's body and Bonnie's haunted chanting. Over the dark shoulder of her captor, the flames were now bright red, redder than anything she ever remembered, red like blood. The two figures grew into black stains the faster her captor ran. It pulled her up the stairs of the basement and into the house. The flames that once consumed the house were now gone. However, every inch of the mansion shook and shivered as though nauseated with the power trapped within. The whole foundation rumbled as though an earthquake was building in strength below it. Her captor dragged her over the charred remains of chairs and tables, of pictures and memories. It kicked open the front door and continued to run across the grass. Caroline's hand flopped uselessly in the air over it's back. She hadn't even said goodbye.

Somewhere behind her, Caroline heard Elena yelp with glee, with recognition to her captors. She was babbling on about how safe they were, how thankful she was, how it was all—

The Lockwood Mansion erupted into a brilliant red flame that scorched the night. The blast wave sent chunks of flaming debris into a thousand directions. It knocked her captor to the ground and Caroline flew from his grasp. She tumbled into the grass and rolled to a stop. She heard screaming and shouts and gasps of pain, but she felt nothing. She looked up into the dark night sky, a sky so clear you could almost drink in the Milky Way. She thought of the day when she turned six and became determined that the man she would marry would propose with a diamond as brilliant as a night star. She told that to Tyler once. He agreed.

She sat up, the hot sting from the burning remains of the Lockwood mansion warming her tears. Stefan was explaining something to Elena as Matt and Jeremy looked on. His eyes kept dropping to the ground. And then he paused, took Elena's hand, and said something that made Elena burst into tears. Matt's face went slack and Jeremy closed his eyes, rocking back into the ground, his hand covering his face. Elena slid forward into Stefan's arms, sobbing and shivering. Stefan looked back at the burning rubble, as planks of wood slid and crumbled. Damon stood nearby, a guardian to all the mortals he so willingly protected.

And Caroline . . . Caroline was once again, as she always would be, alone.

* * *

She tipped back, falling slowly and thudding against the grass. The blades churning in the wind next to her ears like chopping swords, she watched the stars move and dance. They whirled and flew and bounced. Seven stars shone like sunlit glass, shifting across the night sky like buoys on waves. And then the seven stars stopped. They formed an image, a very familiar symbol that Caroline couldn't quite place. A symbol that haunted her, a prominent symbol made from seven different pricks of light . . .

* * *

She paced on the hill over looking the vacant graveyard. It was Thursday night. She had been caught in her hellish nightmares for a day and a half. When she awoke, she had left the motel so fast, she had probably slipped into vamp-speed without knowing it. But it didn't matter, none of it did. She just had to get away, as fast as possible.

She had sat inside of her car, hands gripping the SteeringDisk as thought they were welded to it. She sat there, fire and death and agony flashing in her mind, for over an hour, contemplating once again leaving Mystic Falls for good. She felt like she was crying, but her face was dry. Bits of her strength were crumbling off her, like shedding breadcrumbs. She could feel her resolve, the resolve against pain and grief that she had been building for a hundred years begin to crack. _I have to finish this. Or I will die running._

At that realization, she had turned, launched herself into her bag and immediately messaged Carlson from her BioNet.

**Hey, please can we talk soon? I need you, like super bad.**

Several hours later and on top of that seedy hill, Caroline checked her BioNet again. Still, there was silence from his end. The moon was full that night and the first beginners of the town walkers had began their mindless tumble into the graveyard. No sign of Amy anywhere. Caroline tapped her PI badge, glancing from the moon to the walkers just starting to emerge from the trees. It was like an addiction-withdrawal kicking in.

Caroline spun away from the bright light of the full moon, cramming her BioNet up against her ear. It was already beeping.

"Hey, you've reached Cool Carlson but I'm not here right now, so just leave me a quick message and I'll try to call you back. But I'm pretty busy being fabulous, so no guarantees."

Caroline sighed. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her free hand, something like a sob hiding in her chest, but she beat it down.

"Carly, where are you! Look I'm at my wit's end here! This is way harder than I EVER expected! I need you to tell me to keep it together! Because I can't do this on my own anymore!" The sob was knocked loose. It banged around her chest, making it harder to talk. "I'm terrified, okay? Damon's here with his perfect fucking family. The mother and the little girl both adore the hell out of him, but no one's fucking happy! No one! We just keep throwing lies back and forth until I don't know what the truth is any more! It's all bullshit! Some hoity-toity bullshit that we all keep swallowing because we're tired of being alone. And Damon— Damon's built this hideaway in the middle of Bumfuck NoWhere and it's just an escape, from living these separate lives of a monster or a dad. We were actually fucking civil to each other because . . . because . . . oh, I don't know . . . Damon can't be alone any more! That's why he's doing this family crap. And I hate watching it because I know it won't last— it can't! But I can't blame the guy. It makes sense. That's all I've ever wanted and . . . frankly, I feel bad for him. For us. It's not fair that we're cursed." Caroline knotted a fist in her hair, just above the back of her neck. She wanted to feel as small as possible. "I had the dream again. I watched him die in my arms, again. God, it was like it was yesterday. It was so fucking vivid I thought I was going to puke when I woke up. Why, Carly? Why? Why is he still haunting me? Why do I want to just curl up on Damon's shitty floor in his shitty un-built house and just sleep? Why am I cursed?"

She dropped into a crouch, sitting unbalanced on her ankles. She held her BioNet tightly, as though it was a portal out of this hell. The wind rustled the branches and the grass. It floated up into her hair and pulled gently. When only silence greeted her on the other end, the sob broke free and escaped her wet lips. She ended the call with a shiver.

"I don't think you're cursed."

Caroline leapt to her feet, her hands immediately gliding to the stake at her waist. Damon grew out from the shadows of the trees, the moonlight striking his hair like the halo of a fallen angel. His eyes were brighter than any light she'd ever seen.

"What are you doing here?" She snapped.

"I always come to make sure she's okay."

Caroline glanced to the wood's edge and saw Amy's brilliant hair in a crowd of dull, hapless creatures stumbling towards the mouth of the cave. When she looked back, Damon was still staring at her.

"I don't think you're cursed."

Caroline bit the inside of her mouth and roughly put away her BioNet, the backs of her ears hot.

"Let's not talk about any of that. You weren't supposed to hear it."

"Clearly."

She glared at him. He watched her with a gaze that felt warm against her skin, but his eyes were empty and blank. She turned back to the edge of the cliff.

"The crop circles that have sprouted up in the past six months have something to do with this." Caroline didn't really care if he was paying attention. She just needed to break the silence. "My contact still doesn't know what the symbol means, but it's written in the same language as recent crop circles. He thinks they're not even crop circles. It's not written in any known alien language."

"Crop circles are really alien languages?" His tone had changed when he stepped up beside her. The strange moonlit man that had come from the trees was gone and a more colloquial Damon was now in the mood for talking. "I thought that was just crazy country hicks blabbering about white lights and crap."

"Nope. The government has been in contact with aliens for over a hundred and fifty years. I had a run-in with a guy from Jupiter once. He was working out a deal for a new engine from a buddy at Area 51, but accidentally stole a tractor from a local farm. I was called in by a local harpie because she had seen the tractor float off into a big floating disk. It was a simple misunderstanding. No big deal."

He was so quiet, Caroline had to look at him. He watched her with a funny look. His mouth jerked awkwardly as though a smile was trying to escape.

"You met an alien . . . from Jupiter? And it's no big deal?"

"What?" Caroline shrugged defensively. "I work with the supernatural. A harpie is a supernatural creature who was freaked out. The alien thing just was part of the investigation."

Damon shook his head and in the quick turning of his head, the smile made a momentary appearance. " The Caroline I remember would have thought meeting an alien was a pretty big deal."

Caroline shrugged, her neck heating up again. She crossed her arms to pin down the expanding feeling in her chest. She bit her lip and looked off to a tombstone far below. "Okay, I guess it was kinda cool."

The moon moved far, far above them and there, it struck midnight. A breeze, cascading atop the giant pine trees, tumbled down and rustled against their clothes, tucking at their hair and bringing a bite of cold to sting their cheeks. It was midnight on the breadth between Thursday night and Friday morning and the last of the town walkers stumbled into the cave and was swallowed by the darkness.

The moon hung in the sky like a great and watchful eye.

And then, the eye blinked.

A rumbling came from the earth, shaking the ground like a miner shakes for gold. Unwarranted, mud slipped away from the cave wall and the mysterious symbol shimmered brightly in the night. Caroline looked to Damon worriedly as the cliff cracked and broke. Slowly, the blackness of the mouth of the cave began to churn. Purple lightly snapped from the inside, like needles shooting out into the night.

"Damon, what the hell—,"

An unearthly bellow broke out across the abandoned cemetery, shaking the thick pine trunks like a soft wind would break against dandelion stalks. From the blackness of the cave, a grey, clawed talon crawled free. A thick arm, as heavy and thick as one of those trunks, followed and soon a torso, weighing heavily onto two gnarled cloven feet, stepped free from the spiraling shadow. A head, its lips twisted around white tusks and pulled back over a heavy under bite littered with dripping fangs, swiveled around, its eyes sharp green orbs, surveying the new land. The creature beat its boulder-like fists against the cave walls before releasing another horrible roar.

"Caroline, what the hell is that?" Damon asked rapidly beside her.

"No clue."

The beast snarled, then turned, lumbering off towards the forest and shaking the ground with every massive step.

"It's heading for town." Damon snapped. "What do we do?"

"You stay out of its way and try not to be killed." Caroline stepped back to the edge of the forest and reached into her satchel and pulled out a thin metal oblong wand. She rubbed the bottom with her thumb and with a mechanical snap and jerk, a steel battle-axe formed into her hand. The perks of one hundred years of technological weapon advancements. She took off her jacket and laid it on the ground.

"Caroline, no, this is not part of our agreement." Damon glanced at the axe and her jacket worriedly. "You'll die."

She ground her feet into the soft grass and readied her knees. She frowned at Damon. "Got a better plan, hot cakes?"

He was silent but gently shook his head. She swung the axe once in her hand. "C'mon, a little exercise is good for your heart."

With quick bounce and a shoot of breath between her cheeks, Caroline charged the cliff and leapt off it. Just as the creature passed beneath it, Caroline sailed down towards it.

_Please let this work_.

Using her body as a weight, she swung the axe down like a bat and imbedded the metal deep into the creature's back. The connection sounded like a sword clashing against stone. It bellowed a hair-raising noise. Frantically, the creature clawed at its back, the talons over three inches long.

Caroline yanked the axe free, climbed over its shoulder and leapt to the ground. The creature's nostrils shivered and it snorted in pain. Caroline rolled to her feet, the axe held up behind her head.

"Let's go, ugly. I've had a really crappy day and killing you good and dead would completely turn things around. What do you say?"

The beast howled, beating its massive fists against the ground. It snarled and charged, swinging its fists like clubs. Caroline dodged two swipes, leaping high and ducking low. It came at her a third time and she slashed against its flesh. A gaping slice opened, but no fluid, no blood, poured out. Another fist crashed towards her, but she dodged and cut along the wrist. Still nothing, but an anguished yelp in pain. Caroline saw the attack from above, but only glimpsed at the flying rock-fist coming at her side a second too late. It knocked into her and Caroline was sure she felt her arm break.

She sailed away and crashed through a tombstone. Her ears singing, she set her bone in her arm back into place, praying it would heal in time. She heard the beast's thundering steps and just as the pain ceased, she caught the fists hurling above her. She rolled and like lightening, she threw the two stakes from their holders into its face. Like bullets, they rammed into the creature's face and splintered into a thousand pieces. It roared, stumbling back, as the wood pierced its eyes.

The beast distracted, Caroline bounded up on tombstones and slashed fiercely against its exposed chest. Still, no mortal wounds. _Holy shit_.

An unfamiliar panic mounting, Caroline turned and sprinted to a nearby mausoleum. With a quick leap and flip, she leered down at the creature from the top of the stone fortress.

The creature bellowed, snorting and clearing its eyes of wood. It finally could see again. Swinging its massive head, it laid its lamp-like eyes on Caroline again. It screamed out of anger rather than pain.

_Okay, Care, this time you can't miss. _

As it approached, Caroline ran forward. She leapt from the edge of the mausoleum, sailing through the brisk night air, eyes trained entirely on the neck of the beast. As she swung down, a thick fist shot towards her. Her blade sunk deep into the neck and she knew she had hit something fleshy, something mortal, on the inside. What Caroline didn't know or see was the thick fist until it was already breaking her rib cage.

As the force carried her in the opposite direction, she felt one of her ribs snap backwards into her heart. If she was human, it would have killed her. Her breath stopped. She hit the ground so hard, it felt like concrete. Rocks ripped her face and tore open her lip. Dirt buried itself in her hair. She felt her knee pop and her wrist sprain. She would be down for a lot more than a couple of seconds.

The creature heaved under belated breath. It scrambled for the weapon in its neck but its fingers were too thick, its brain too slow to pull it out. Its giant eyes swiveled, panicked, and then they fell on Caroline's body. Somehow, it knew that this little thing was its killer and if it had to die, then this little gnat had to come down as well. It charged towards her for the last time.

But just as it approached, something grey and solid collided with its head.

"Hey, Elephant Face, fuck you!"

Damon hurled another tombstone at the creature. It stumbled, stunned. Caroline rolled slowly, her head pounding but not daring to believe. What was Damon doing? Was he trying to . . . save her?

"Yeah, you! Just die already, you asshat!" He threw a third one and the beast roared.

Caroline blinked, seeing passed the rivet of dried blood that had run down over her left eye. She pulled herself up, her knee mending itself as the ligaments in her wrists sew back together.

"I'm talking to you, buddy!" Damon taunted. Now he threw just little stones, popping the creature in the eyes and ears. "Fuck off! No one likes you!"

Without warning, the creature charged. It swung its fists and Damon tried to dodge, but he wasn't strong enough. Not on animal blood. He got away twice before a meaty hook collided with his chest and he flew through a mausoleum wall. He didn't get up again.

The rib in her heart popped free as it molded back into place. Caroline took a big breath of clean, blood-free air.

"Okay, you mess with me, that's one thing." She stood to her feet and again pulled her last stake out of its holster. "But killing my boss, that's really not okay."

Just as the creature lumbered to face her, Caroline ducked down and stabbed the stake into its fleshy leg. It roared, tumbling. Caroline back-flipped onto a high obelisk, her eyes focused like a hawk's onto the handle of the axe. As the creature swayed and roared, she found her spot and shot forward with all of her strength. Arms outstretched in front of her, Caroline grabbed onto the axe as she flew forward, slicing through the neck of the beast. She landed and rolled, the axe dripping with black fluid. Its head, eyes wide in surprise, tottered and fell from its wide neck. The knees collapsed and with a ground-shattering thud, the beast fell to the ground, dead.

Shaking the black ooze from her axe, she closed it and fit the small oblong wand back into the satchel. Creature blood covered the left side of her body from head to toe and it was starting to smell. She walked over to Damon's body. His neck was at horrible angle. It would take him several hours to revive, especially with no human blood in his system. Rolling her eyes, Caroline grabbed his shoulder and slung him over her back.

"The things I do for seven hundred and fifty bucks . . ."

* * *

Damon jerked awake in the passenger seat, his eyes wide and hands shaking. He tasted human blood on his lips, his tongue unconsciously licking the rest up, before turning to watch Caroline blow smoke out the window.

"Oh good, you're up. I was starting to worry." She slowly tapped the ash from the butt and watched it scatter away in the wind. Her LCD headlights were the only source of light. She had parked them somewhere on a road, hidden deep in the forest. The moon swung low overhead. It was much later.

"Where are we? What time is it?"

"Just a little outside of Mystic Falls. I figured it would be better if no one else saw a dead body come back to life. And it's about four in the morning. Amy should be back in bed and no one the wiser."

Damon nodded and sat up a little bit, still rubbing his head.

"And the thing?"

"Dead. As a whole sack of doornails. A phrase I never really understood, 'cus doornails aren't alive in the first place. You can't die without being alive—,"

"Caroline." His voice was tired. "Take me home."

Wordlessly, she started up the car and flew off towards home. She tossed him a bag of blood.

"I don't want to hear that 'I'm too good for human blood' crap. Drink it. If you're going to do something stupid like that again, you need to be stronger. You were dead for way longer than you should have been."

As though it filled him with great shame, Damon closed his eyes and downed the whole bag of blood.

* * *

The sky was draining of its total blackness as Caroline approached the house. Stars were falling into the pale morning glow and the horrible night was receding into the past. Caroline shut off the car and waited. Damon didn't spring from his seat like last time. Instead he sighed and glanced at her.

"Do you want to come in? For breakfast?" He swallowed, toying with the empty bag in his hands. His movements were jumpy, faster. She knew he was trying to contain just how good it felt to have human blood inside him again. "Quinn's been going on and on about you for days now. It would be a nice surprise."

Caroline was itching for another cigarette. She sighed and tapped a sharp nail on the SteeringDisk. "Look, Damon . . . thank you, okay? Thank you for saving my ass back there."

Damon nodded, his foot tapping. "Still . . . you're welcome here, at my house."

Maybe she wouldn't have to be alone forever.

Slowly, hesitantly, Caroline shut off the car, the keys sliding back onto her lap in her hand. Damon paused, both of them freezing just inside this car of theirs, before he leapt out and started off towards the house. Caroline followed, feeling an imaginary tail between her legs.

"Damon, I—,"

He threw up an arm, his eyes wide in terror. The door to the house was open, the handle dangling and a smear of blood up the side.

_No. No, no, no . . ._

Damon flew inside, the door bouncing off the wall. Caroline caught it on her way in.

"Amy!" Damon rushed from room to room. Caroline smelled blood. Fresh. Everywhere. "Amy! Quinn!"

The living room was in shambles. Bookshelves were knocked over. The couch was on its side. As she walked into the kitchen, Caroline heard glass crunch beneath her feet. There was blood here too, in droplets and small pools. Cabinets were open and Tupperware spilled out onto the tile like organs.

"AMY! QUINN!"

Caroline stumbled back into the living room, her hand brushing against the fireplace where all their pictures used to be.

"AMY. QUINN."

Damon nearly tripped coming down the stairs. His hands were bloody and shaking.

"They're not here." He panted. He picked up the couch with one hand as though he would find them cowering underneath it. "They're gone. There's blood. Amy— Amy's bleeding, badly. Quinn, she's hurt too. I can smell it—,"

"Someone took them."

The couch fell with a thunderous crash. Damon's face was pale white. "What?"

Caroline bend down and picked up a picture through the rubble. Amy was smiling up at her, the freckled arms grasping around Quinn's shoulders. Someone— or something— had slashed through Amy's face with something sharp. "This was an attack."

Damon snatched the photograph from her hands. His own were finally still.

"Whoever did this, I'm going to kill them." His voice was low and vibrating, like thunder before a storm. "I'm going to rip out their throats and make them watch while I pull their veins out with my teeth. I swear it."

The man that looked up was the Damon she was beginning to wonder if he had died. It was the Damon she knew and feared. It was the face of a mad man.

"I'm going to kill them."

* * *

_When the fires, when the fires have surrounded you_

_with the hounds of hell comin' after you_

_I've got blood, I've got blood on my name_

_Oh, Lazarus,_

_How did your debts get paid?_

-The Brothers Bright

* * *

_*A/N: Hey, so sorry it's a day late. Got sick! Now better :) Here you guys go! Let me know what you think, please!_


	9. Chapter 9: A Hole in the World

**Chapter 9: A Hole in the World**

_The only sound she heard, above the din and the roar of battle, was the screams coming from inside that hole in the ground._

* * *

"Damon, can you think of anyone who would want to hurt them?"

He paced along the length of the living room, his back taut and rubble crunching beneath his feet like bones.

"No. No one wants to hurt them. It's me they're after." He paused, breathing sharply. His eyes fell on a still-standing vase. Caroline blinked and the vase was shattered in the swift swipe of his hand. Blood dripped through his tight fist. His whole body rocked in pain.

Caroline began to wonder if it was such a good idea to give him so much human blood. But how would she have known? How did anyone know?

"Damon, I know every inch of you is itching for revenge and your vines are singing with energy, but I need you to think." He began pacing again. She pictured a lion trapped in a cage, his ears flat against his skull. "Who could have done something like this?"

"I don't know. I don't know who wants me dead." The pale fingers flexed, roughly, shining brightly against his dark pants. "If I did, don't you think they'd be dead already?"

Caroline sighed. It was like talking to a brick wall. "Damon, go wait in the car."

He froze. "What?"

"You're too emotional. You're not thinking clearly and I—,"

"You're damn fucking right I'm emotional!" Damon roared. He threw the bookshelf to the floor. "Someone stole them from me! Someone came into my fucking home and destroyed it!" He began pacing again, his chest rising and falling in short bursts. Suddenly he turned and threw his fist into the wall. The plaster shattered and a crack jerked sharply up into the ceiling. Caroline stood up, her finger hovering above a small StunBuzz wrist applicator.

"Damon, calm down."

He let out a low growl and when he turned around again, his eyes were fading from black, small tendrils of blood rushing back into his cheeks. Long fangs were retracting into pure white teeth.

Caroline grinned, her head turning slightly. "Ooh, look at Suburban Daddy. Thought you didn't do that any more."

"Things change." He shouldered roughly passed her and stormed up the stairs. "Find something and find it soon."

Caroline watched him go up the stairs, his presence suddenly like a dark, overhanging storm cloud. _Hmm, a volatile Damon, this should be interesting . . ._

She turned off and headed into the back bedroom. Here it was no different: there had been a violent struggle, fight, and then a loss. Perhaps Quinn had hidden under the bed. Maybe they both had. As Caroline picked her self through the destruction, the faces in her mind lost their features, lost what made them special. They became, like every other case she had ever worked, faceless wooden dolls, moving through the danger and the brutality of their attackers. She walked through the steps of the mother and child, of the ones who wanted to hurt them, searching for anything, a lick of blood here, or a yanked hair follicle. Nothing here.

Back to the foyer, she went, looking at broken glass, and dents in the wall. Under a window, another vase was shattered. A large jagged piece was embedded in the wall, as if someone had jabbed there, missing their target. What Caroline surprised most was that it was clear. Absolutely empty of all DNA traces. The force needed to drive that piece of glass into the wall would have undoubtedly broken skin, and yet, there was none. Caroline narrowed her eyes as she gazed around the living room once again. That was clue one: everything was too clean. Obviously, the whole place was in dire need of redecorating, but it was absent of anything, human or otherwise. Someone, with very fine observational skills, had managed to wipe the place clean.

"Damon, this was professionally done." He met her as he came down the stairs. She held up the piece of glass that had been embedded in the wall. "Someone came through here and cleaned up their tracks. There's no trace of any DNA anywhere. Of Quinn. Of Amy. Of their attackers. Nothing. Who with lots of money hates you?"

"If we went through that list now, we'd be here for hours." He gestured to the mess. "You're telling me there's not even a single hair, a fiber, something that would point us in the right direction."

Caroline sighed and looked at the destroyed living room. "Good news is this wasn't just a dumb mugging. Humans are incapable of being this thorough. Bad news, someone with a lot of magical buff came in here and fucked things up."

She glanced back over her shoulder, to Damon clogging up the stairs. "I'm assuming you didn't find anything either."

He only shook his head, his fist tightening.

Caroline took another big cloth to the background of her mind and finally cleared away Damon's face. This was just another case. Just for money. No emotions. No ties. Nothing. There had to be something here. There always had to be something. A vibrant scene of a redheaded wooden doll fighting an attack replayed in her mind again. The attacker dodged, no matter how fast the woman lunged with her glass dagger. She swung up and down but he just laughed at her.

And then, when he tried to grab her, she cut out, across his face, across his neck. Blood splattered the wall, staining it red. But then a little droplet, a droplet flying high and fast, smattered against the ceiling.

Caroline's eyes ripped open.

"Caroline! Hello? Can we please have one normal conversation?"

She strode off to the window near the kitchen, head rolled back on her neck. Damon followed, yelling about something. _C'mon, please, be here, please be here. _

"Have you lost that little mind finally? Or have you just gone deaf? C'mon, Caroline, don't act like this now—,"

"Damon. Shut up." She propped one foot on the window ledge, and the other on a very silent Damon's shoulder.

There it was, just a speck in the corner. One little drop that got away. She took out a cotton swab and smeared the speck onto the cotton.

"Caroline, what— what is that?" He asked very, very quietly. His hands were wrapped around her leg, holding her there as steady as a rock.

"Clue Number Two." The blood was bright, fresh. She slowly dropped a dab of it onto her tongue. Immediately, she tasted darkness, hollow and death. It was dead blood, from something that is no longer living. Something that only animates the human form.

A vampire.

"Damon, just how many other vampires are there living in Mystic Falls?"

He frowned. The angered creases in the edges of his eyes faded slightly, as if fear now filled the cracks.

"Just me, as far as I know."

"Well, now you've got at least one more. And I know how to find him."

* * *

The headlights to Caroline's car broke through hazy purple twilight like two golden columns ramming into oaken doors. She barreled over thick, moist fog and down black top lanes, back into the grimy underbrush of Mystic Falls. She swung loose when turning and pumped the brakes to cut angles. With every mile they passed and tree shadow they dove under, the blood in her mouth sang brighter. It was sweeter and sharper, wetter. He was coming to life, inside her mouth. Her knuckles went white around the SteeringDisk.

"How much longer?" Damon's plaid shirt rubbed roughly against her leather seating as he adjusted his position. Caroline watched him vaguely out of the corner of her eye. As unsettling as it was to see his vamp face after all these years, it was twice as uncomfortable to see it pop out of the face of a man in red plaid.

"Soon. I think he's somewhere out on the old Falconhead plotting."

"That's where money goes to suburbanize, right?"

"I thought they were abandoned the construction because the foundation wasn't solid."

"Giant old mansions abandoned and out in the backcountry. What more could a vampire want?"

Caroline frowned, tapping her fingers on the Disk. "The vampire that kidnapped Quinn and Amy must have known you were a vampire too. A one Starbucks town like Mystic Falls, it's only a matter of time before two supernaturals meet. He must have been a hired gun, because who wants to mess with the only other creature that could put you in the ground permanently. And hired guns don't live in palatial states like Falconhead. No, I think, by luck, he's at his employer's home right now. Now we don't have to go through the sticky business of getting the name from him."

"Darn. I was so looking forward to cracking some heads." Damon popped his knuckles against his knee.

* * *

Between the solid stalks of trees and despite the failing sunlight, a dirt road became visible to their right. It led up to an unfinished road where large, marble homes stood out like diamonds. The blood was practically swimming in her mouth now. Caroline turned off the back road and pulled up under low hanging branch. The tires brushed against thick reeds.

"That one." She pointed up the dirt road to a house at the end of what was probably going to be a very clean cul-du-sac. "He's in there. Now, Damon—,"

He kicked open the door and strode off, towards the white mansion. Caroline huffed and turned off the car. _Goddamn it_. She grabbed her multi-use belt and leapt out of the car after him.

"Where do you think you're going, genius?"

"To go save my family."

"And you think Mr. Vampire is just going to let you beat him to death?"

"I'd like to see him stop me." Just as he reached the edge of the forest line, she sped up and slammed him into nearby trunk.

"Okay, better question, Bright Eyes." She jerked her head towards the mansion. "How many buddies do you think he's got in there? How many security guards does his employer have stationed around the grounds? How long do you think it will take for them to rip you to pieces?"

"Caroline, stop—," he tried to shove her away but her hand latched onto his throat and held him there. Her fingernails dug into the wood behind him. His eyes bugged out and he clawed at her.

"You know, for all the years you've been playing Dad, you'd think you'd grow some sense. I'm trying to help you, dumbass, so calm down and let me."

"You're just doing this for money," he gasped, jerking his chin up to let the words escape.

Caroline narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, well, I'm still doing this better than you."

"Yeah, well, I'm still Damon Salvatore." He stopped struggling and glared down at her. His nails bit into her skin but she didn't flinch. "I'm still the vampire that tried to kill you when you first Turned."

Caroline froze. A bullfrog croaked in the silence. They stared at each other, waiting for the other to strike first. Then Caroline moved and threw him to the ground. "Fine, but if you get Staked, it's on you."

Damon coughed and stood up, rubbing his throat. "At this point, I'm looking forward to it."

* * *

Night had fallen, a big black cloak draped over the grounds. It was thick, making it hard to see, even for a vampire's sight. The moon and stars had yet to appear. Caroline made Damon lead, hiding from tree, to rubble, to a stack of bricks, and finally behind an abandoned forklift. While he ran, Caroline looked for anything out of the ordinary. A shadow. A movement. Something that was a precursor to an attack. And yet, when they sat only feet away from the cellar door, nothing had made an appearance.

"This is too easy," she muttered to herself.

"What? And you wanted an ambush?" Damon hissed back as he glanced over the forklift.

"It would have been nice. I like to feel welcome." _And this wouldn't feel like we're walking into a trap. _

"You're right." Damon muttered and sat back down. His gaze jerked up to meet hers. "Something's wrong. The lights are on in the house but I can't hear anything."

Caroline exhaled, not breaking eye contact with Damon. "You might get your wish of bashing in some heads just yet."

She motioned with her head for him to go on. He nodded and quick as lightning, he turned and dove for the cellar door. Which was open. He raised a concerned eyebrow at her. Caroline shrugged tightly. They slipped in through the door. They were in a basement. Their footsteps echoed on the stone floor.

Long wooden shelves occupied half of the floor space. They were filled with canned foods and spices. With boxes of cereal and rice. There were unopened bottles of wine and vinegar. Garlic hung from the low wooden ceiling.

"Somebody lives here." Damon muttered. "Somebody human. Could this guy's employee be human?"

Caroline motioned with a turn of her head and a jerk of her shoulders. "Maybe. I've seem some pretty horrible things happen at the hands of humans, supernatural or otherwise. I just don't know what they would want with you. Besides the possibility that you killed their whole family."

"Unless they were a hundred and five, I haven't done that—,"

"In a long time. I know I got it." She hissed at him. She felt his eyes glaring at the back of her head.

The cellar door opened up into a very clean and chrome-filled kitchen. Everything was spotless as though it had been recently wiped down. Again, not a hair out of place. The kitchen was privy to a very wide and glamorous dining room. The ceiling was outrageously high and in the very center of it, a crystal chandelier hung, its white light bouncing of the red walls. Caroline itched to take out the big battle-axe from her belt. Through every room they passed, she felt as though they were falling deeper and deeper into the belly of the beast. The entire house was furnished, furniture, lighting, the whole shebang. And yet it was entirely empty. As though everyone ever living it had suddenly turned into ghosts.

Finally, through the blood-red dining room, they found themselves in a massive foyer. Two marble staircases curved down on opposite sides from the floor above, like open arms greeting guests. The floor itself was the same type of marble, covered and patterned with giant Oriental rugs. Beyond the two great staircases, a large wooden door was hidden in shadow. Across from them a large square hallway led into darkness.

"Up or down?" Caroline muttered to Damon, who gazed at the open spectacle with visible awe. Something ominous hung in the air, as though a great evil hid in the shadows, just beyond reach.

"I say through the very threatening door." Damon pointed to the shadowy arch beyond the stairs.

"That's where I would keep all of my victims if I was a kidnapper." They strode on, over the large rug between the ends of the two staircases.

And then she heard it. A soft, timid scraping sound.

"Damon, wait." He froze, turning to look at her with wide eyes. "What?"

"Listen."

His eyes grew bigger and immediately, he changed. His body moved as though his skin were vibrating, jerking in every direction to find the source of the noise. They both stood, solid as the pine trees outside, listening, desperate to find the source. Their gazes locked and dropped to the floor in sync.

"It's coming from under the floor." They muttered in unison. Caroline leapt off the rug as Damon pulled it back. There was a large square cut out in the marble. It was a metal grate covering a hole. It was clear by the hinges on the side that it could be open, but the metal was seared shut, no way of opening it. But it didn't matter any more.

Through the holes in the grate, tiny fingers poked through.

"Damon?" Quinn whispered. Amy gasped from somewhere below.

"Oh my God, Damon, you found us."

Damon knelt down, his eyes bright and glassy. "It's okay, I'm going to get you out of here."

Suddenly, as though an oncoming train had collided with her, a horrible thought sprang into Caroline's mind.

"Damon, we have to go." She grabbed the oblong cylinder from her belt and ejected it into its battle-axe form. Her eyes roaming, she knew something was watching them.

"What? Caroline, we found them. We have to get them out." He wasn't paying attention. He didn't see the danger. He couldn't feel it.

"Something's here. It was waiting for us the whole time."

At then, as though they oozed free of the woodwork, vampire after vampire emerged on the second floor. They hung from the balcony. They sat on the stairs. They appeared in the darkness from the door, from the empty hallway, poured from the blood-red dining room.

"This isn't a prison, Damon." Caroline heard him stand behind her. "It's a stage."

And they attacked. Dark shadows leapt down on them and Caroline swung them in half before they hit the ground. They tore at her hair, at her clothes, but she dodged, and swung and kicked and rolled. She decapitated several and disemboweled others. She tried for the head and jabbed at the heart with the wooden end of the axe. She lost track of Damon. She lost track of the thoughts inside her head. The only sound she heard, above the din and the roar of battle, was the screams coming from inside that hole in the ground. A hole in the world.

She pulled the axe free from the neck of one vampire, blood slashing her clothes, and turned to swipe at one behind her, when she was launched to the side by an attacker she missed. It roared in her face. Using her knee, she knocked it right between the legs. It groaned and with a swift punch, Caroline tossed it off her. She stood up, adrenaline pulsating and blood lust rising, and her face shifted. Fangs protruded from her white teeth and she roared back at the body. She struck down with the end of the axe and the body turned to stone.

She turned low and swept the legs out of three newcomers. She leapt into the air and back-kicked a line of vampires to the floor. She staked another one but as that one fell, one rushed in and knocked the axe to the floor. She lunged for her weapon but it was too late. They dove on top of her, jaw snapping and nails scrapping. They pinned her to the ground, all holding down her limbs. A large vamp, his bicep as big as a python, cracked her nose with his knuckles in a hard punch. Her head knocked against the marble and the world spun. He raised his fist again and again, the world tumbled off its axis. His fist reeled back for a third time, and then a voice called out:

"That's enough."

Standing at the top of the staircase, hair cut and manicured as ever, dressed in a suit of all black, Elijah Mikaelson surveyed his carnage with indifference. His dark eyes fell upon Caroline and his head turned as if he were inspecting an interesting species of bug.

"My, my, my, I leave you for a century and this is what becomes of the eldest Salvatore and the werewolf's chew toy." He sighed and walked down the elegantly vast marble steps. "I had really hoped you would have put up more of a fight. Or at least been more discreet about your trail of bodies. I had hoped that the reason behind the rash killings in Mystic Falls would have been a little more . . . challenging."

Caroline searched the scattering of bodies for Damon. He too was being pinned down on the staircase by several vampires. His mouth was oozing blood, as though he had taken a massive bite out of one of his attackers. His eyes were still swirling black pits, the veins beneath them coursing with fresh, angry blood. They were locked tight onto Elijah, every ounce of loathing pricking the Original's face. Elijah slid off the last step with a firm bounce to the ground.

"Can you understand my frustration when I find the little blonde vampire and the Salvatore, with a family?" He sighed and glanced down the grate at the two girls cowering there. One of them whimpered. "So I won't have my fun. But do tell me, how is that you two have so heavily upset the balance of nature within the world?" His gaze swiveled back and forth, from Caroline to Damon, as though he had asked them to dinner.

"They didn't do it." A female voice answered him. Caroline heard the click of heels as a beautiful woman entered from the dark behind him. It was as though she had materialized out of thin air. Her dark hair was pulled back into a sharp, straight ponytail, the length easily covering over one shoulder. She wore a suit, as black as his. Her brown skin glistened with an alien aura. "They didn't do it because they don't have the power. Not like us."

Bonnie Bennett, power-consumed and absurdly beautiful, stepped behind the Original vampire and put a talon-like hand over his shoulder. She leaned forward and kissed him, hard on the mouth.

* * *

She pulled away and licked her lips, like a viper would taste the air. Her unnaturally bright green eyes pivoted, her dark lips so smooth they looked drawn on by chocolate butter, and her gaze fell onto Caroline. Bonnie Bennett's twisted into what some may have called a smile, but it was the most terrible smile Caroline had ever witnessed.

"Release her." When the vampires clamored off her, Caroline realized she was shaking like a tiny dog caught in a rainstorm. She wondered if the wet chill creeping down was from blood or the sudden realization that—

"You're alive."

Bonnie smiled again, her head dipping condescendingly. "Honey, I've been a lot more than alive for a lot longer than you can imagine."

"But I saw you die. In the explosion. We never found a—," Sudden tears swelled up Caroline's throat. She was suddenly seventeen again, standing on that grassy hilly and realizing that her life was changed forever. She had lost her best friend and the love of her life, in one foul swoop. She was standing over the Tyler's casket, looking at his bruised and burnt face. She glanced at what should have been Bonnie's but it was too unbearable to stare at empty cream satin. She was again a child and all of her training, all of her walls made of steel and angry sarcasm were crumbling, crumbling down because it didn't matter any more. Bonnie was alive and her entire life was a lie. Out of all that she had seen and done over a hundred years of immortality, this was undoubtedly the most obtrusive and horrible one of all.

Caroline glanced to the floor, her vision wavering and unsteady as tears rushed under her eyelids. The weight of the tears was overwhelming. It pulled her mouth open slightly and words flowed out, uninterrupted. "I should have looked for you. I should have known— should have done— Bonnie, I'm—,"

"Caroline, don't." Bonnie sighed and with a sharp snap of her wrist, the tears swallowed in on themselves and Caroline could breath again. Her eyes were dry. "Don't apologize for what I am. I never have."

"And what is that exactly?" Damon sneered from the stairs. He was still pinned down but the scowl on his face was unmistakable. "What the hell are you?"

Bonnie turned, her eyes glowing. That snake like smile slide across her mouth again. "Powerful."

"That you are, darling." Elijah said behind her. He motioned and the vampires holding Damon slithered away. "Now, can either of you tell me why the devil has Mystic Falls become a center for magical convergence?"

"I'm not telling you a damn thing until you give me the two girls." Damon snapped.

Elijah looked at him as though he had interrupted a very important monologue. Bonnie narrowed her eyes at Damon. "And here I thought in a century you would have experienced some—,"

"Personal growth." Elijah finished the sentence as though he had been the one speaking the whole time. "But what are vampires if not immune to time?"

Bonnie snapped her fingers at a nearby vampire. "Open the grate."

He nodded and bent low and ripped the metal lid off the hole. Damon rushed over and carefully pulled out Quinn and then Amy. As she stood, she leaned forward, as if to kiss Damon, but spotted the blood on his shirt. She pulled away and saw the body at his feet. She turned and her eyes fell on the bloody piles scattered across the foyer. One vampire was still oozing thick blood and as the pool approached her feet, she skittered away with a shriek. She snatched Quinn by the hand and pulled her close. It suddenly occurred to Caroline just how frail mortals were.

"D-D-Damon, did you do all this? How did— what—," her eyes fell onto Caroline, "Why—,"

Elijah's thick eyebrow lifted into the air. "It seems you haven't told your dearly beloved what we are."

All color drained from Amy's face. Quinn started to cry. "We?"

Her tiny voice echoed in the vast, blood-drenched foyer.

The façade was over. Damon was shaking, grabbing and holding on so tightly as his last chance, his final chance was drying out, dissolving into powder that flew away on the wet breath of Quinn's sobs. Caroline was suddenly aware of how cold the room was, even from the very beginning.

"They're lying," he begged. "I'm nothing. Nothing without you."

"What the hell is going on, Damon?" She glanced from Damon, to Caroline, to the immaculate Elijah standing in a pool of fresh blood, to the frightening and beautiful Bonnie who was looking at her nails with some feigned interest. "Please, tell me. Who are these people? Why are they dead? _Why are you covered in blood?_"

Bonnie sighed and rolled her eyes. "Oh, for God sakes—,"

She snapped her wrist again, and Caroline felt a pull on her bones. She cried a shout of pain as her fangs protruded against her will and the veins cracked beneath her eyes. She heard Quinn scream. It was the most painful sound she'd ever heard.

"DAMON! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU?"

He had thrown up a hand to cover his face, as though he was disfigured, as though he was hideously ugly. "Please— Amy—,"

"I trusted you!" Caroline opened her eyes to see Quinn staring furiously, tears in her eyes, but not at Damon. But at her, at Caroline. "You knew he was different! You knew he was a monster and you lied to me! YOU'RE A FILTHY LIAR!"

"Darling, these are their affairs. We ought not to meddle." Elijah said softly.

Bonnie rolled her eyes and opened her fist. Caroline stumbled as her fangs rammed themselves back up into her jaw. Damon stepped towards the trembling girls, his hands outstretched.

"Amy, please. I'm trying to save you. I really do love you. Both of you."

Amy blinked, as though she had been struck in the face. Quinn turned and buried her face in her mother's stomach. "Damon, I—I—I," she stammered. Damon saw that last bit of imaginary hope gleaming from a place that no one else could see and he grabbed it tight. "Damon, just take us home."

Damon swallowed, her phrase not condemning nor condoning. When she turned away from him, he let his outstretched hands fall. He didn't try to touch her again. Damon led them through the slew of bodies and towards the giant oak door. When they disappeared through it and into the dark, Caroline turned and narrowed her eyes at the two still standing on the stairs.

"The Bonnie I knew would never have caused that much pain to an innocent."

"And the Caroline I knew wouldn't have abandoned her best friend on her wedding day." The cold, wet sensation returned to her back as Bonnie Bennett drove electric green daggers into her.

"We're not finished yet." Elijah said firmly. "We will leave the woman and her daughter alone. But we must speak with the both of you again. And soon. The matter of Mystic Falls—,"

"I don't give a damn about Mystic Falls," Caroline snapped. "You have just destroyed a family and you are too caught up in your own stupid worlds to see that you've killed a man. You're damn right we're not done. We're going to protect Amy and Quinn, put them somewhere safe. And once that's done, I'm coming after you two."

She bent down and picked up her axe. It was still wet with blood.

"Send Damon our regards." Bonnie wiggled her long black fingernails at Caroline, a grotesquely sweet smile plastered onto her thick lips.

* * *

The ride back to Amy's house was unbearable. Quinn was still crying softly when Caroline started the car. Damon, his hands in fists, shuddered with the apparent need to console her but locked with the inability to touch her. Amy watched the trees pass with indifference.

The moon followed them, a great eye, a white presence, a full witness to their tragedy. She had seen the moon rise and fall over the past, and she had never been so consumed by guilt under its poignant gaze. She followed up the choppy road, to the center of Mystic Falls. It seemed to take as twice as long to get there. Maybe it was because she was going twice as fast the first time around. Or maybe it was simply that the car was being weighed down under the burden of mourning.

The purple sky was receding into a bright pink morning. As Caroline turned down the street to Quinn's house, the same house that girl with fire for hair had brought her to so many nights ago, the tops of the houses on the street were alight with the sun's cool rays.

Caroline pulled up to the curb and shut off the car. Everyone was caught in the brightness of the day. The light that had fallen onto so many secrets, so many lies the previous night. It dawned a new day, a new era of sadness, loneliness and fear. Amy suddenly jerked as if she had woken up. She gathered a sleeping Quinn in her arms and barreled out of the car. Damon followed.

He raced up behind her, trying to gather her back into his arms. "Amy, please—,"

She turned and with a cracking sound that seemed to resonate across the golden morning light, she slapped him across the face.

"Stay away, you monster."

* * *

_A/N: Yah, so we got one question answered! Yay! Now here's like 85378 more questions! I told you guys, if you held in here long enough, it would be pretty amazing! Have fun! Thanks for all the reviews, all the encouragement! I couldn't do this without you guys!_


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